I 


*IT 

• 


-IIA. 


BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 
« 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


That 

Frenchman! 


BY 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

AUTHOR    OF 

"MR.  BARNES   OF   NEW   YORK" 
"MR.   POTTER    OF    TEXAS,"    ETC 


NEW  YORK 
THE    HOME   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

3  EAST  FOURTEENTH  STREET 
1889 


jr 


COPYRIGHT,  1889, 
BY    A.  C.  GUNTER. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Press  of  J.J.  Little  &  Co., 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 

THE    FLOWER   GIRL   OF    THE   JARDIN    D'ACCLIMATATION. 


PAGE 


CHAPTER        I. — An  Amateur  Detective,                 -  5 

"             II. — The  Heart  of  the  Conspiracy,    -  19 
III. — Young    Microbe   of   the   Rue  de 

Jerusalem,  27 

IV.— Number  55  Rue  de  Maubeuge,  39 

V.— Hide  and  Seek,           -                    -  55 

VI.— The  Fate  of  the  Mabille  Suit,    -  67 

"          VII.— The  Broken  Thread,                       -  87 

BOOK   II. 

THE   MASKED    WRESTLER   OF   PARIS. 

CHAPTER  VIII.—"  L'Homme  Masque"  Will  Meet  All 

Comers,"      -  -  101 

"  IX.— The  Bear's  Nest  in  the  Bois  de 

Boulogne,  120 

"  X.— Lamia, 136 


4  CONTENTS. 

YHAKB-tJ  VUMKM'i/U; 

PAGE 

CHAPTER     XI.— The   Salle  les  Arenes  on  the  Rue 

le  Peletier,  -       154 

"         XII.— The  Base-ball  Finger,  -  -172 

XIII.— To-Morrow !    -  -       187 

"        XIV. — A  Russian  Governess,  -  208 


BOOK   III. 

THE   WEB   OF    THE    RUSSIAN   SECRET    POLICE. 

CHAPTER    XV. — Don't  You  Remember  Me  ?-  -  220 

XVI.— The  Ball  on  the  Frontanka,      -  238 

"       XVII.— If  I  Find  a  Way  from  Russia?  -  254 

"     XVIII.— Olga's  Datcha,                   -        -  -272 

"        XIX.— The  Six  Napkins,         -  .  290 

"         XX.— That  Frenchman  !     -        -        .  312 

"        XXI.— The  Last  Round  !        -    V-  .  .  339 


THAT  FRENCHMAN! 


BOOK  I. 

THE  FLOWER  GIRL  OF  THE  JARDIN 
D'ACCLIMATATION. 


CHAPTER   I. 

AN    AMATEUR    DETECTIVE. 

"  O-O-O-AUGH  !  "  The  first  of  this  is  a  sighing  moan  ; 
the  second  a  sudden  vocal  twist  and  snap  of  the  jaws  ; 
the  whole  a  prolonged  yawn. 

"  Monsieur  !  "  remarks  the  valet  deferentially. 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"  Seven  o'clock  !  " 

"  Seven  o  clock!  Why  the  devil  are  you  disturbing  me 
at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  ?  Sapristi  !  Don't  you 
know  I  only  returned  from  Madame  d'Indra's  ball  at  three, 
Francois  ? "  mutters  Maurice,  Le  Chevalier  de  Verney  in 
a  half-asleep  tone,  rolling  over  on  his  luxurious  pillows 
for  another  nap. 

"  Monsieur,  the  head  of  secret  police  wishes  to  see 
you  immediately.  He  will  not  be  denied  !  " 

"  Le  Diable !  Show  Monsieur  Claude  in  at  once  ! " 
cries  Maurice  springing  over  the  bed  with  an  athletic 


6  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

bound.      "  My  dressing-gown — and  now  let  me  see  the 
autocrat  of  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem  !  " 

Frangois  salutes  with  military  grace  and  passes  to  the 
door  of  the  handsome  bed-room.  Here  he  pauses  and 
says  in  a  tone  of  affectionate  anxiety  :  "  Monsieur  de 
Verney— my— my  master — you — you  have  not  com- 
promised yourself  politically  ?  You  have  not  displeased 
the  Emperor?" 

"Not  I !  "  laughs  the  young  man.  "  My  eagerness  is 
that  of  joy— I— I  love  the  secret  police,  and  the  head  of  it 
most  of  all." 

The  servant  has  turned  to  go  when  there  is  a  bound 
behind  him,  he  feels  his  arm  gripped  as  by  a  vise  of  steel, 
he  is  swung  round  as  if  by  the  power  of  a  whizzing  fly- 
wheel, and  is  gazing  amazed  into  his  master's  face. 

"  Frangois — remember  ! — military  secrecy — not  a  word 
of  this  visit  to  any  one  on  earth  !  " 

"  Y-e-es  !  Monsieur  Commandant !  But  —  my  —  my 
arm  ! "  and  the  man,  though  a  veteran  of  the  French  army 
in  the  Crimea  and  Algeria,  almost  groans  with  pain. 

"  Your  pardon  !  "  says  his  master  apologetically  ;  "  I 
had  no  idea  I  had  used  any  great  strength." 

"  Any  great  strength  !  "  gasps  Frangois  ;  "  my  arm  has 
been  in  a  vise."  Here  he  rubs  the  affected  member. 
"  Mon  Dieu  !  Monsieur  is  like  Hercules  in  the  paintings 
at  the  Louvre  !  " 

This  is  rank  flattery,  for  Maurice  de  Verney  is  not  over 
five  feet  ten,  and  his  physique,  at  first  glance,  does  not 
appear  marvelous  under  his  silken  dressing-gown.  He 
says,  a  little  impatiently,  "  Quick  !  the  head  of  the  police 
must  not  be  kept  waiting  !  " 

And  as  the  servant  leaves  the  room  the  master  with  a 
little  laugh  lights  a  cigar,  and  popping  his  feet  into 
slippers  sinks  into  an  arm-chair  before  the  freshly  lighted 
fire  to  await  the  coming  of  the  man,  perhaps  the  most 
feared  in  the  Paris  of  1868,  Monsieur  Claude,  the  nom- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  7 

inal  head  of  the  "Bureau  de  Suretd"  under  the  Second 
Empire. 

A  moment  after,  this  gentleman  cautiously  shoves  his 
head  through  the  half-opened  portieres  that  separate  the 
large  luxurious  bedroom  from  the  larger  and  more  luxuri- 
ous parlor.  His  glance,  professionally  inquisitive,  takes  in 
the  room  and  its  occupant,  first  generally,  then  in  detail. 

Monsieur  Claude's  primal  impression  is  that  the  cham- 
ber he  is  looking  into  is  that  of  an  effeminate  dandy. 
The  room  is  furnished  with  that  delicate,  graceful  luxury 
peculiar  to  the  Second  Empire  of  France,  which  has,  in  the 
last  twenty  years,  impressed  itself  upon  the  whole  modern 
fashionable  world,  and  can  now  be  seen  not  only  in  dukes' 
palaces  in  England,  the  mansions  of  New  York  million- 
aires, the  villas  of  cattle-trust  butchers  in  Chicago, 
the  railroad  syndicates'  and  bonanza  kings'  adornments 
of  Nob  Hill,  San  Francisco,  but  even  in  the  houses 
of  Australian  magnates  of  many  sheep-ranges,  and  the 
bungalows  of  rich  opium-smuggling  European,  Chinese, 
and  Indian  merchant  princes — in  fact,  wherever  there  is 
money  enough  to  pay  for  silken  hangings,  bric-a-brac, 
marquetry,  tapestry,  and  furniture  in  appearance  light 
and  graceful  enough  to  bend  to  the  forms  of  fairies,  but 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  weight  of  average  men  and 
women— even  fat  ones. 

The  room  is  a  mass  of  satin — pale  blue  hangings  on  the 
walls  ;  pale  amber  draperies  and  upholsteries  on  the  bed 
and  furniture,  save  where  it  is  given  variety  of  form  by 
the  white  ivory  and  gold  of  carved  wood-work  and 
gilded  metal,  or  broken  here  and  there  by  patches  of 
color  in  the  form  of  delicate  pictures  from  the  hands  of 
masters  of  the  modern  French  school  of  painting — which 
is  as  much  ahead  of  that  of  the  old  Flemish  as  modern 
science  is  beyond  old  alchemy,  if  we  had  but  the  cour- 
age to  think  so,  and  dared  judge  by  our  eyes  and  not  by 
our  reverence  for  ancient  humbug. 


8  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

At  first  glance  this  is  the  appearance  of  the  room,  but 
a  longer  gaze  adds  a  peculiar  effect  to  the  chamber  :  its 
satin  hangings  are  held  up  by  Arab  spears  ;  its  curtains 
fall  from  Algerine  match-locks — not  the  imitation  ones  of 
a  Parisian  upholsterer,  but  real  ones,  that  have  been  used 
in  war  and  bear  the  scars  of  combat  upon  their  dark  old 
barrels  and  uncouth  stocks.  From  the  horns  of  the 
antelope,  deer  and  stag,  hang  rapiers,  swords  and  pistols  ; 
while  near  the  bed,  and  convenient  to  the  hand  of  its 
owner,  is  placed  the  saber  of  a  cavalry  officer  and  a 
heavy,  six-shooting,  dragoon  revolver,  from  Mr.  Colt  of 
America.  Both  of  these  seem  ready  for  instant  use  in 
emergency.  Sandwich  among  the  most  exquisitely  beau- 
tiful pictures  a  dozen  atrocious  wood-cuts  from  English 
Boxiana,  showing  the  heroes  of  the  British  prize-ring  in 
fighting  attitudes  ;  add  to  this  a  magnificent  lion's  head 
with  its  tawny  skin  attached,  which  is  thrown  before  the 
grate  ;  toss  carelessly  about  the  room  a  couple  of  pairs  of 
English  boxing-gloves,  several  Indian  clubs  of  assorted 
sizes,  dumb-bells  ranging  in  weight  from  three  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds ;  sling  from  the  ceiling  a 
punch-bag  such  as  prize-fighters  train  with  ;  in  the 
midst  of  this  conglomeration  inject  a  few  French  nov- 
els of  Monsieur  Paul  de  Cock,  Balzac,  and  Eugene  Sue, 
together  with  works  of  Taine,  Voltaire,  and  Guizot, 
seasoned  with  "  Le  Prince,"  of  wicked,  philosophical 
Machiavelli  ;  elevate  this  by  Macaulay's  "  History  of 
England,"  together  with  two  or  three  scientific  works,  and 
"  A  Treatise  on  the  Calculus,"  by  La  Place  ;  and  in  the 
middle,  as  a  center-piece,  place  a  gay  young  man  with  an 
Anglo-Saxon  forehead,  the  face  of  a  philosopher,  the 
eyes  of  a  lover,  and  the  jaw  of  a  warrior,  robed  in  a  light, 
pale,  harmonious-blue  dressing-gown,  upon  his  feet  slip- 
pers of  amber-colored  satin,  who  is  lazily  smoking  a  cigar 
and  gazing  fondly  upon  a  rose-bud  he  has  picked  from  a 
table  covered  with  flowers,  and  you  have  the  picture  that 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  9 

petrified  Monsieur  Claude,  the  head  of  the  French 
police. 

After  a  minute  of  surprised  contemplation  and  savage 
chewing  of  his  grizzled  mustache,  Monsieur  Claude 
mutters  to  himself  :  "  The  Jack  o'  dandy  ! — is  he  a 
mountebank  or  a  Napoleon  the  First  ?  " 

Then  he  steps  into  the  apartment  and  says  effusively, 
"  My  dear  de  Verney,  my  unexpected  visit " 

"Was  expected!"  remarks  Maurice  calmly.  "  Take  a 
cigar  !  " 

At  this,  the  supposed  wise  man  of  Paris  gives  a  gulp 
of  astonishment,  murmurs  faintly,  "  You  know,  then  ? " 
and  sinks,  overcome  with  wonder,  into  a  chair. 

"  What  the  devil  did  he  come  for  ? "  meditates  de  Ver- 
ney, looking  at  the  collapsed  head  of  secret  police.  "  All 
the  same,  when  you  wish  to  impress  a  man  who  is  supposed 
to  know  everything,  it  is  best  to  appear  to  know  a  little 
more  than  he  does.  Perhaps  he'll  tell  me  all  now  with- 
out pumping."  Then  he  says  aloud,  "  Take  a  cigar,  my 
dear  Monsieur  Claude,  and  come  to  business  !  " 

"  No — no  cigars,"  returns  the  visitor  dejectedly. 

"  Ah  !  then,  perhaps  you'll  have  something  to  drink  ?  " 
and  Maurice,  ringing,  says  to  his  servant,  "Francois,  a 
glass  of  Bordeaux  for  Monsieur  Claude!"  The  valet 
having  gone,  he  turns  to  his  guest  and  remarks  causti- 
cally, "  You  need  some  stimulant.  You  have  been  out 
all  night ! " 

"  How  did  you  learn  that  ? "  returns  Monsieur  Claude, 
suspiciously  pulling  his  whiskers,  that  are  slightly  griz- 
zled ;  for  the  chief  of  police  is  nearly  fifty,  while  the 
gentleman  he  has  called  on  is,  by  his  appearance,  in  the 
very  acme  of  youth — i.  e.,  about  twenty-seven.  At  which 
age,  man,  properly  trained,  properly  nourished,  and  unex- 
hausted by  dissipation  and  debauchery,  is,  if  not  at  his 
highest  state  of  mental  development,  at  least  at  his  cli- 
max of  physical  vigor  and  muscular  activity. 


10  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  I  should  have  guessed  it  if  "f^fcd  not  seen  you  before. 
You  have  an  all-night  appearance,  Monsieur  Claude ; 
your  hair  needs  brushing — your  coat  also,"  remarks  de 
Verney  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  behold  the  wine  ! — Francois, 
put  the  bottle  and  glasses  on  the  table  and  see  that  I 
am  not  disturbed  !  "  And,  his  servitor  withdrawing,  his 
master  cautiously  closes  and  locks  the  door  after  him, 
then  returns,  and,  sinking  lazily  into  a  chair,  drawls  out, 
"  Besides,  I  saw  you  at  work  !  " 

At  this,  the  head  of  the  secret  police  springs  up  in  aston- 
ishment, almost  staggers  to  the  table,  hastily  gulps  down 
two  glasses  of  claret,  forgetting  in  his  agitation  to  note 
that  it  is  Lafitte,  of  the  grand  vintage  of  '53,  and  then 
gasps  :  "  You  saw  me — when — where  ?  " 

"  At  a  quarter  to  three  this  morning — at  the  Rue  de 
Maubeuge,  just  where  it  leaves  the  Rue  de  Faubourg 
Montmartre." 

"  Le  Diable  !  " 

"  Yes — you  and  your  satellites  at  work,  Monsieur 
Claude — upon  the  person  of — of  Monsieur  Her — Her- 
mann— " 

"  Margo  !  "  cries  the  chief  of  police. 

"  Which,  by  the  by,  isn't  his  right  name,"  remarks  de 
Verney,  sharply  closing  his  speech,  and  at  last  being 
sure  he  has  guessed  the  matter  about  which  the  chief  of 
police  has  come. 

"  How  the  deuce— did  you  see  all  this?"  ejaculates 
the  chief  of  the  Bureau  de  Surete. 

"  Are  yours  the  only  eyes  in  Paris  ? "  laughs  Maurice. 
"  You  Solomons  of  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem  think  you  are 
the  only  beings  in  France  blessed  with  the  sense  of 
sight.  You  may  be  watched  as  sharply  as  you  inspect 
the  doings  of  other  people.  However,  to-night  I  saw  you 
by  accident !  " 

"  By  accident  !     How  ?  " 

"  Before  we  go  further  in  this  most  important  matter, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  II 

Monsieur  Claude,"  siiys  de  Verney  coolly,  "we  must 
come  to  an  understanding  on  one  important  point." 

"  What  point  ?     I  don't  understand  !  " 

"  Then  I'll  make  it  clear  to  you,"  returns  Maurice  calmly 
but  impressively.  "  To  do  so,  permit  me  to  recall  to  your 
mind  certain  facts  concerning  you  and  me.  I  am  Maurice, 
Le  Chevalier  de  Verney,  of  noble  family  and  plenty  of 
money,  but  wanting  fame  !  Seven  years  ago,  at  twenty, 
I  was  lieutenant  of  chasseurs,  stationed  in  Algeria,  and 
had  nothing  to  do  but  shoot  lions  to  gain  fame.  I  gained 
all  the  fame  possible  by  killing  the  king  of  beasts."  Here 
he  fondles  carelessly  the  lion's  head  by  which  he  is  sit- 
ting. "  Then  I  volunteered  for  service  in  Mexico,  and 
fought  my  way  to  a  medal  and  a  captaincy.  Well,  you 
know  the  end  in  Mexico.  I  came  home,  unharmed,  with 
a  little  more  fame  and  one  year's  leave.  A  year  of  in- 
activity meant  a  year  out  of  my  life.  I  determined  to 
study  the  social  and  political  complications  of  Paris — 
knowledge  is  always  useful.  In  my  investigations  I 
stumbled  on  something  that  astonished  me.  I  un- 
raveled the  something  which  astonished  me,  and  found  it 
was  a  plot  that  was  being  slowly  perfected  to  assassinate 
the  Emperor.  I  saved  His  Majesty's  life.  You  remem- 
b'er  that  day's  ride  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  when  I 
warned  Louis  Napoleon  not  to  let  the  man  riding  behind 
him  overtake  him  or  he  was  a  dead  man.  You  remem- 
ber the  plot  that  had  been  perfected  under  your  very  eyes, 
and  you  had  not  seen  it,  Monsieur  le  Prefet  de  Sfirete'. 
You  remember  the  '  affaire  Koelch  '  !  Sapristi  !  you  ought 
to  remember  it.  It  nearly  cost  you  your  official  head  !  " 

"  Diable !  Don't  speak  of  it !  "  mutters  Monsieur 
Claude  with  a  shiver,  though  the  room  is  very  warm. 

"  That  service  made  the  Emperor  my  friend,  gave  me 
the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  promotion  to  the 
grade  of  commandant,  and  the  position  of  extra  aide-de- 
camp to  the  general  commanding  the  troops  in  Paris.  A 


12  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

little  more  glory  !  Then  you  were  instructed,  Monsieur 
Claude,  to  place  any  affair  of  vital  importance  that  you 
could  not  understand  in  my  hands  for  investigation. 
Since  that  time— it  is  almost  two  years  now — you  have 
had  several  affairs  of  vital  importance  that  you  did  not 
understand  :  vide  the  attempt,  eight  months  ago,  to 
assassinate  the  Czar  of  Russia  when  he  came  here  to  the 
Exposition — and  you  never  came  near  me.  You  are 
jealous  of  me,  Monsieur  Policeman,  and  now  " — here  he 
laughs  in  Claude's  face — "you  are  at  your  wits'  end. 
Your  official  head  is  already  dangling  over  the  fatal 
basket.  You  know  that  something  must  be  done  very 
soon,  and  you  come  here  to  me  to  wake  me  up  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  to  beg  me  to  save  you.  Is  it  not 
so,  Monsieur  Claude  ?  " 

The  young  man  looks  smilingly  at  the  head  of  police, 
who  almost  groans  to  him  "  Y-e-s  !  " 

"Well,  I'll  save  you,  but  you  must  sign  this  paper.  It  is 
already  written."  And,  in  dazed  wonder,  the  policeman 
sees  the  aristocrat  unlock  an  ornamental  desk,  and  pro- 
duce the  following  : 

"PARIS,  April  2ist,  1868. 
"  I  hereby  place  the  Affaire. 


.  \v 


holly  in  the  hands  of  Maurice,  Le 
Chevalier  de  Verney,  Commandant  loth  Chasseurs  d'Afrique,  for 
both  investigation  and  action." 


As  he  reads,  the  eyes  of  the  chief  of  secret  police  look 
sharply  at  Maurice.  He  grins,  and  remarks  :  "  Smart  as 
you  are,  you  don't  know  to  what  this  affair  relates  !  " 

"  Don't  I  ?  But  I  know  too  much  to  tell  you  any  more 
till  you  sign  that  document.  Place  your  name  on  that 
paper,  and  I'll  fill  in  the  blank.  If  you  don't— good- 
morning  ! " 

Monsieur  de  Verney  walks  to  the  door  to  bid  his 
visitor  good-by.  Before  he  gets  there,  the  head  of 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  13 

police  signs  the  paper,  and  says,  "  Now  fill  it  up,  and 
I'll  see  how  much  you  know,  my  amateur  policeman." 

"Certainly  !  "  and  Maurice  writes  hurriedly  ten  words 
that  make  the  eyes  of  Monsieur  Claude  roll  in  his  head, 
for  the  document  now  reads  : 

"PARIS,  April  2 ist,  1868. 

"  I  hereby  place  the  Affaire  Hermann — concerning  the  assassina- 
tion or  kidnapping  of  the  Prince  Imperial— wholly  in  the  hands 
of  Maurice,  Le  Chevalier  de  Verney,  Commandant  loth  Chasseurs 
d'Afrique,  for  both  investigation  and  action. 

"  CLAUDE, 
"Chef  Department  de  Surete." 

"  Now,"  remarks  Maurice,  pocketing  the  paper, u  I  want 
the  grade  of  colonel  and  the  Grand  Cross  for  this  affair  ; 
fortunately  for  the  pocket  of  France  I  am  not  mercenary." 
With  that  he  places  the  paper  in  security,  nonchalantly 
lights  a  cigar,  and  murmurs,  "  Time  is  precious.  Your 
story  ? " 

"  At  once  !  "  is  the  reply,  and  Monsieur  Claude,  who, 
though  he  has  been  forced  by  despair  to  place  this  matter 
in  the  hands  of  this  man  of  whom  he  is  desperately  jeal- 
ous, and  has  been  dazed  by  astonishment  even  at  the 
slight  revelations  this  interview  has  already  brought  him, 
now  pulls  himself  together,  becomes  all  over  policeman 
again,  and  tells  his  news  shortly  and  concisely,  some- 
times consulting  a  note-book  to  be  sure  of  his  data. 

"  Three  days  ago,  that  is,  last  Saturday,  April  i8th,  I 
received  information  from  the  Prussian  foreign  office  that 
there  was  some  plot  against  the  safety  of  the  Prince 
Imperial  that  would  shortly  develop  itself  in  Paris. 
Imagine  my  excitement  at  this  meager  news  !  I  tele- 
graphed for  more.  All  they  could  tell  me  in  reply  was 
that  a  man,  of  supposed  socialistic  tendencies,  had  left 
Berlin  for  Paris  on  last  Thursday,  the  i6th.  He  was 
known  in  Berlin  as  Hermann  Schultz,  was  a  native  of 
Alsace,  by  occupation  a  pharmaceutical  chemist,  about 
30  years  of  age,  light  complexion,  medium  height — had 


14  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

been  heard  to  threaten  violence  to  the  Emperor  of  the 
French— his  father  had  been  killed  at  a  barricade  in  Paris 
in  '48.  The  reason  the  Prussian  police  suspected  him  of 
being  connected  with  a  plot  against  the  Prince  Imperial 
was  a  scrap  of  paper  carelessly  left  in  his  room  and  found 
after  his  departure." 

"  You  telegraphed  for  the  paper  ? "  asks  Maurice 
earnestly. 

"  At  once  !  and  the  reply  was  that  the  policeman  had 
thoughtlessly  destroyed  it.  Oh  !  those  Germans  !  those 
imbecile  Germans  !  that  fool  Bismarck  !  "  cries  Monsieur 
Claude  with  true  Gallic  contempt. 

"  Probably  Monsieur  Bismarck  (if  he  knows  anything 
about  this  matter)  has  some  reason  for  keeping  the  scrap 
of  paper  to  himself — there  may  be  more  things  on  it  than 
he  wishes  us  to  see.  These  Prussians  are  not  such  fools 
as  we  Frenchmen  think  them.  Perhaps  some  day  you 
may  find  that  out — but  continue,  Monsieur  Claude — you, 
of  course,  began  a  search  for  this  man  Hermann  ? " 
remarks  de  Verney. 

"  Of  course  I  did — I  am  not  a  fool  if  Bismarck  is," 
returns  Claude  snappishly.  "  But  the  information  had 
come  on  the  i8th,  and  the  man  arrived  on  the  iyth.  He 
had  been  in  Paris  one  day.  It  took  my  emissaries  four 
hours  to  find  him — the  description  being  indefinite  and 
the  subject  of  investigation  having  another  name.  He  is 
now  Hermann  Margo." 

"  Yes,  I  mentioned  that  when  you  came  in,"  interjects 
Maurice. 

"  Well,  this  Hermann  Margo,  or  Schultz,  whatever  his 
name  is,  was  found — and  watched  !  " 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  Of  course,  we  don't  know  what  he  did  for  the  one 
day  and  four  hours  before  we  found  him — since  then  he 
has  done  nothing  !  " 

"  Nothing  ?  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  15 

"  NOTHING  !  That's  what  makes  me  so  suspicious  about 
him." 

"  Nothing  !  A  man  in  Paris  for  four  days  and  do 
nothing  ? "  Maurice's  eyebrows  rise  in  a  smile. 

"  That  is,  nothing  to  speak  of.  He  has  eaten,  slept 
and  walked  about." 

"  Spoken  to  no  one  ?  " 

"  No  one— except  to  order  his  meals,  bargain  for  his 
rooms,  and  curse  the  boy  who  blacked  his  boots." 

"  Nothing  else  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  ah  !  yes  ;  he  has  each  day  bought  a  flower  for 
his  button-hole." 

"What  kind  of  a  flower?" 

"  The  officers  apparently  did  not  note  that,"  mutters 
Monsieur  Claude,  looking  over  his  memoranda. 

"  From  whom  did  he  purchase  them  ?  " 

"  Officers  did  not  ascertain'  that — probably  unimpor- 
tant." 

"  Ah  ! " 

This  is  an  unmistakable  sneer.  At  which  Monsieur 
Claude  reddens  and  mutters  hurriedly,  "  But  he  wrote  in 
his  room  a  large  part  of  each  day." 

"  What  ? " 

"  A  treatise  on  chemistry." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  exclaims  Maurice  in  astonishment ;  then 
asks  after  a  moment,  "  Have  you  any  of  the  treatise  with 
you  ? " 

"  No,  but  a  copy  of  it  has  been  taken,  of  which,  of 
course,  he  knows  nothing  ;  but  I  have  had  the  manu- 
script examined  by  a  chemist,  and  he  says  it  appears  to 
be  orthodox — that  is,  to  be  scientifically  correct  and 
have  the  usual  meaning.  This  Hermann  has  also  fitted 
up  a  little  laboratory  and  made  experiments." 

"  Well — I  shall  want  that  treatise,"  remarks  Maurice. 
"  You  discovered  all  this  I  presume  when  you  searched 
his  room?"  '^^  f^555^. 

0?   THE         $^ 


jg  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Certainly  !  As  soon  as  he  left  it  in  the  morning,  we 
entered  it,  and  there  was  not  a  piece  of  furniture  in  it 
unexamined." 

"  Still,  you  may  have  missed  something  !  " 

"  Impossible  !  We  even  opened  and  searched  the  pil- 
lows and  the  mattress " 

"  Bed-posts,  rugs  ;  tore  up  the  flooring  and  looked  into 
the  lining  of  the  clothes  he  left  in  his  apartment ;  the 
usual  routine  search  "—interrupts  Maurice—"  and  found 
nothing." 

"Nothing!  But,  if  it  had  been  in  the  old  days,  I'd 
have  had  him  !  Oh,  for  the  good  old  days  when  you 
could  arrest  a  man  for  nothing  !  "  mutters  the  chief  of 
police  with  a  sigh. 

"  Ah,  yes  ! — but  now  you  dare  not  act  without  some 
evidence.  Monsieur  Rochefort  and  his  reds  are  making 
such  a  row  about  illegal  arrests." 

"  Yes,  orders  from  the  Tuileries  are,  '  No  seizures  with- 
out proofs.'  Oh  !  for  the  dear  old  days  of  '53,  and  I'd  have 
had  Monsieur  Schultz  on  his  way  to  Cayenne  before 
this,"  mutters  the  head  of  police,  sadly  shaking  his  head. 
Then  he  continues  rapidly  :  "  Not  being  able  to  dis- 
cover anything  compromising  in  his  apartments,  I 
concluded  they  must  be  on  his  person.  We  knew  he  had 
a  pocket-book  and  papers  that  he  always  carried  with 
him — I  dared  not  arrest  and  search  him — I  concluded 
that  he  should  be  seized,  robbed,  and  searched  by  foot- 
pads. He  was  returning  home  this  morning  from  Le 
Mabille  at  half  past  two " 

"  And  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge  and  the 
Rue  de  Faubourg  Montmartre  I  came  upon  you  and  three 
of  your  officers  engaged  in  your  work.  Parbleu  !  You 
were  handling  him  as  if  you  intended  murder — not 
robbery,"  and  Maurice  gives  a  slight  laugh. 

"Yes,  we  wished  him  to  be  sure  it  was  a  criminal 
attempt,"  murmurs  Claude  with  a  smile. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  If 

"  But  did  your  work  very  badly.  Your  poor  victim 
cried,  '  Robbers !  Aid  !  Police  ! '  and  not  a  single  sergeant 
de  ville  came  to  his  aid  ;  then  he  shrieked,  as  if  to  wake 
the  dead,  *  Police  !  Murder !  Assassins  ! '  and  the  police 
still  slumbered ;  but  at  last,  despair  giving  him  wit,  he 
howled,  *  Vive  La  Republique  !  A  bas  les  Tyrans!'  and 
in  a  second,  as  if  by  magic,  the  street  was  full  of  gen- 
darmes as  far  as  le  Rue  de  La  Fayette.  Egad  !  how  you 
and  your  detectives  ran  away  from  the  other  policemen  !  " 

"Yes,  we  had  to.  We  have  orders  by  no  means  to 
excite  the  people.  Curse  that  Rochefort !  "  cries  Mon- 
sieur Claude.  "  It  is  we  who  do  the  skulking  now — the 
criminals  strut  about  like  fighting-cocks." 

"  By  running  away  you  managed  the  affair  badly.  You 
should  have  immediately  arrested  Monsieur  Schultz  for 
seditious  cries,  hurried  him  to  a  police  station,  searched 
him  and  found  the  pocket-book  and  papers,"  remarks 
Maurice. 

"  Yes,  that  might  be  done.  We'll  attack  him  again  to- 
night, and,  whether  Monsieur  Schultz  tries  the  same  game 
or  not,  we'll  search  him  and  find  his  pocket-book  and 
papers." 

"  Excuse  me,  that  is  now  impossible.  He  no  longer 
carries  them  on  his  person,"  murmurs  Maurice. 

"  Ah  !  He  has  been  warned  !  He  has  destroyed 
them  !  "  cries  the  chief  of  police. 

"  Not  at  all ;  for  they  are  now  in  my  possession  !  " 

"  Impossible  !     I'll  not  believe  that !  " 

"Then  believe  these  !  "  says  Maurice  sharply,  unlock- 
ing an  escretoire  and  extending  to  Monsieur  Claude  an 
old,  worn,  red-leather  pocket-book.  "  Does  this  answer 
the  description  of  your  officers  ?  Perhaps  you  may  have 
seen  it  at  a  distance  yourself?" 

"  Y-e-s — it — is — the  German's  porte-monnaie"  gasps 
Monsieur  Claude.  "  But  how  in  the  name  of  Tophet 
did  you  get  it  ?  " 


l8  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Oh,  a  mere  bagatelle  !  Perceiving  the  game  you 
gentlemen  were  playing,  and  guessing  what  you  wanted, 
I  assisted  Monsieur  Schultz  in  his  explanations  to  the 
police,  obtained  his  release,  walked  home  with  him, 
became  friends  with  him,  and  PICKED  HIS  POCKETS  ! " 

At  this  the  old  head  of  police  bursts  into  a  peal  of 
exultant  laughter,  and,  forgetful  of  his  fifty  years,  dances 
&pas-seul  of  delight  around  the  furniture  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    HEART    OF    THE    CONSPIRACY. 

THE  dance  is  a  short  one.  Monsieur  Claude  has  not 
made  five  ungainly  steps  before  Maurice  says  suddenly  : 
"  Examine  this  pocket-book  and  it'll  stop  your  capers. 
It  is  empty  as  the  cupboard  of  a  grisette  after  a  student's 
supper." 

"Empty?" 

"  Yes  ;  it  contains  nothing  !  " 

"  Nothing  ?  Impossible  !  You  are  concealing  some- 
thing from  me.  You  have  removed  its  contents." 

"  Not  at  all.  Monsieur  Hermann,  evidently  suspecting 
something  of  your  plans,  removed  what  was  in  this 
pocket-book  before  I  stole  it.  It  was  empty  as  it  is  now 
when  I  got  it.  Behold  !  "  and  de  Verney  tosses  the  old 
red  porte-monnaie  to  Claude. 

"  Then  examine  its  lining — there  may  be  something 
concealed  in  that." 

"  Already  done  !  There  was  not  even  a  sou  in  it. 
No  money — nothing  !  " 

"  Ah  !  that  indicates  he  was  suspicious  !  " 

"  Certainly  ;  and  it  also  indicates  he  made  the  transfer 
from  this  pocket-book  in  a  hurry  and  probably  in  the 
dark.  He  had  not  the  time  to  separate  what  he  wished 
to  hide  from  the  other  things  contained  in  it,  so  he  made 
the  transfer  bodily,  most  likely  just  before  your  officers 
assaulted  him,  Monsieur  Claude  !  " 

"  Then  how  under  heaven  did  you  guess  he  was 
engaged  in  a  plot  against  the  Prince  Imperial  ? " 


20  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Do  you  see  these  letters  ?  "  remarks  Maurice 
impressively,  producing  a  little  packet  of  documents  tied 
with  a  red  string  and  handing  them  to  the  chief  of  police. 
"  Read  them  !  " 

"They  are  in  a  woman's  handwriting,  and  in  the 
German  language  and  text,"  remarks  Claude,  after 
running  through  the  epistles,  "  and  apparently  from  a 
sister  to  a  brother.  But  I  see  nothing  peculiar  in  them." 

"  No  ;  not  very  peculiar  to  you,  but  wonderfully  sus- 
picious to  me.  I  spent  an  hour  over  them  before  I  went 
to  bed,"  replies  Maurice,  taking  the  letters  again  into  his 
possession.  "  They  are  three  in  number,  addressed  to 
Berlin,  and  dated  Paris,  April  nth,  i3th,  i5th.  Allow- 
ing one  day  for  their  passage  to  Berlin,  they  were 
received  by  Hermann  Schultz  April  i2th,  i4th,  and  i6th. 
Now  scan  closely  these  letters  ;  they  are  all  written  in 
German  text  ;  but  examine  more  carefully  and  you  see 
that  the  writer  occasionally,  in  apparent  carelessness,  for- 
getfulness,  or  ignorance,  writes  one  Latin  letter  instead  of 

a  German  letter  ;  vide  the  word  //U4rZ^^&/Zflft, 

S 


which  should  be     /rT^A^ 


see,  a  Latin  a,  not  a  Teutonic  one.  Now,  take  these 
Latin  letters  -  " 

"And  they  make  words—  sentences—sense  !"  cries 
Monsieur  Claude  in  triumphant  interruption. 

"  Not  by  any  means,"  returns  de  Verney.  "  We  are 
not  dealing  with  children,  but  conspirators  who  are  Ger- 
man philosophers—  the  cipher  is  much  more  intricate 
and  ingenious.  Each  word  that  contains  a  Latin  letter  is 
intended  to  be  used." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  21 

"  Yes,  but  they  do  not  make  sense,"  remarks  Claude. 
"  I  see  only  these  words  with  Latin  letters  in  the  first 
epistle  :  '  MONDAYS — FINE— BETWEEN — THE — D'ACCLI- 

MATATION OUR HOLE GARDENERS.'   Bosh  !   YOU 

don't  call  that  sense,  do  you  ?" 

"  By  no  means.     But  put  these  with  the  words  in  the . 
other  two  letters  similarly  denoted,  and  place  them  in  the 
order  of  their  dates,  nth,  i3th,  and  i5th,  and  we  get 
this,"  remarks  de  Verney,  handing  Monsieur  Claude  a 
piece  of  paper  that  reads  as  follows  : 

"  MONDAYS  —  AND  —  IN  —  FINE  —  OUR  —  PLAYS  —  BE- 
TWEEN—  AND — IN  —  THE — ACTS — JARDIN — D'ACCLIMA- 
TATION — HIDE — SEEK 

"  OUR HIDES — A —  HOLE  — BY — PARK GARDENERS 

A  —  RECEPTACLE KNOW  —  BY RED ROSES ONE 

ANSWER 

"  ON  —  OF  —  WORK GAS YOU PROPOSED IT 

SAFEST — ALL — THE — IS — I — SHALL — FAIL 

"  ADDITIONAL — TO FOLLOW  —  EACH RED —  ROSE  — 

BUD — COME — IMMEDIATELY." 

"That's  gibberish  also,  remarks  Monsieur  Claude, 
throwing  down  the  paper." 

"  Not  all  of  it,"  returns  Maurice.  "  The  last  two  lines 
of  the  last  letter  make  sense.  '  ADDITIONAL  TO  FOLLOW 

EACH  RED  ROSE-BUD.       COME  IMMEDIATELY.'  " 

"  That  letter  got  there  on  the  i6th,  and  Hermann  left 
Berlin  that  same  day." 

"  Oh  !  "  remarks  Claude,  contemplatively.  "  But  the 
balance  ? " 

"The  balance  is  the  most  difficult  of  all  ciphers  to 
read,  because  it  is  almost  impossible  to  get  the  whole  of 
it  together.  There  are  other  letters  sent  to  other  people 
necessary  to  complete  the  sense.  Even  if  the  police 
seized  all  the  epistles  addressed  to  or  in  the  possession 


22  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

of  any  one  conspirator,  and  guessed  the  clew,  they  would 
not  be  able  to  make  out  its  meaning." 

"  Ah  !   then  there  are  other  letters  ?  " 

"  Doubtless  !  And,  until  we  obtain  them,  it  is  an  impos- 
sibility for  us  to  interpret  this,"  says  de  Verney  good- 
naturedly,  "  because  we  have  not  all  of  it  in  our  posses- 
sion. My  examinations  suggest  to  me  that  probably 
there  were  two  other  letters  written  to  Berlin  on  the  1 2th 
and  1 4th  of  April ;  to  another  man.  The  two  conspira- 
tors compared  these  letters,  found  they  were  ordered 
to  come  here,  and  left  for  Paris  on  the  i6th,  as  the 
German  police  notified  you.  That  would  make  every 
alternate  word  missing,  save  where  the  first  and  fifth 
words  join.  Of  course,  most  of  the  communication  I  have 
been  unable  to  decipher,  but  I  have  also  been  able  to 
make  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  reading  of  the  first  sen- 
tence. Here  it  is.  You  will  find  the  words  I  know  in 
capitals,  the  alternate  words,  I  guess  at,  in  small  letters, 
and  when  I  am  unable  to  guess,  a  blank,"  and  he  hands 
the  chief  of  police  another  paper,  which  reads  : 

"MONDAYS   Wednesdays  AND  Saturdays  IN  FINE 

(  victim  } 
weather  OUR  \  object  >•  PLAYS  BETWEEN  two  AND  four 

(  prince ) 

IN   THE  afternoon  AT  the  JARDIN  D'ACCLIMATATION  at 
HIDE  and  SEEK." 

"  That  is  very  wild  guessing,"  remarks  Claude  senten- 
tiously,  putting  the  paper  down  with  a  sneering  "Pish!" 

"  So  wild  that  I  would  never  have  ventured  it,  had  not 
my  perceptions  been  quickened  by  a  little  incident  that 
happened  to  me  yesterday,"  returns  Maurice  calmly. 
"  As  extra  aide-de-camp  to  the  general  commanding  the 
troops  in  Paris,  I  was  compelled  to  deliver  in  person  a 
messsage  to  the  Emperor.  His  majesty  received  me 
without  ceremony,  en  famille.  I  had  just  finished  my 
business  when  the  door  opened  and  the  Prince  Imperial 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  23 

ran  in  with  a  beautiful  bunch  of  roses  in  his  hand,  saying 
proudly.  *  Look  !  She  gave  them  to  me  ! '  '  She] 
echoed  the  Emperor  ;  '  who  is  she  ? '  '  Oh  !  the  beautiful 
flower-girl — the  one  I  see  so  often  ! '  replied  the  Prince. 
'  Louis  is  becoming  quite  a  man.  He  is  thirteen,  and  has 
already  a  petite  amourette.  Parbleu  /  he  is  like  his  father,' 
laughed  the  Emperor.  I  approached  the  young  prince 
and  begged  to  see  his  bouquet.  'Certainly,  Monsieur 
de  Verney,'  said  the  little  gentleman.  'It  was  a  com- 
pliment to  me,  she  is  so  beautiful ;  her  eyes  are  like 
chocolate  stars ;  she  is  called  the  beautiful  flower-girl 
of  the  Jardin  d' Acclimatation. '  « Every  one  likes  my 
boy,'  murmured  the  Emperor.  '  Even  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Germain,'  said  I,  and  bowed  myself  out." 

"  And  what  has  this  anecdote  of  inner  court  life  to  do 
with  your  guessing  this  cipher  ? "  growls  Monsieur  Claude, 
who  imagines  it  is  only  told  him  to  hurt  his  feelings 
and  exalt  his  opinion  of  Maurice  ;  Monsieur  Claude  not 
being  received  en  famille  by  the  Emperor. 

"  Only  this,"  says  de  Verney  coolly.  "  Attached  to  the 
bouquet  given  the  Prince  Imperial  by  the  flower-girl  of 
the  Jardin  d' Acclimatation,  was  a  slip  of  paper.  Upon 
this  paper  was  written  '  Mes  hommages.'  It  was  in 
German  text,  and  in  the  same  feminine  handwriting 
that  appears  in  the  three  cipher  letters." 

"  Le  Diable!" 

"  Besides,"  says  Maurice,  with  a  grin,  "  the  Prince  told 
me  the  girl  was  very  talented,  and  had  invented  for  them 
a  new  game — hide  and  seek" 

"  The  Empress  must  be  warned  at  once,"  mutters  Mon- 
sieur Claude,  after  a  disappointed  sniff  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  shall  say  nothing  to  Her  Majesty. 
The  thought  that  her  son  is  in  danger  would  only  distress 
her.  The  mother  in  her  would  overcome  the  sovereign. 
She  would  take  such  extraordinary  precautions  that  these 


24  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

conspirators  would  become  alarmed  and  disappear,  only 
to  turn  up  at  some  unexpected  moment  to  carry  out  their 
design.  The  only  sure  safety  for  the  Prince  is  the  dis- 
covery and  punishment  of  all  who  are  concerned  in  this 
plot  against  him,"  replies  de  Verney. 

"  Oh  !  You  will  say  nothing  to  the  Empress  !  But  1 
shall  notify  her  this  morning.  If  anything  happens  to 
that  boy  it  will  be  my  official  ruin.  I'm  too  old  and  wary 
a  bird  to  be  caught  with  any  such  logical  chaff,  my  young 
philosophical  dreamer,"  says  Claude  with  asperity. 

"  Pardon  me,  you  will  say  not  a  word  to  Her  Maj- 
esty." 

"Pardon  me,  I  am  now  going  to  notify  her  imme- 
diately," mutters  the  old  man,  getting  to  the  door. 

"  Stay  where  you  are  !  Don't  dare  to  leave  the 
room  ! " 

"This  is  extraordinary  language  to  the  head  of 
police." 

"  You  are  no  more  head  of  police  !  " 

"  WHAT  !  "  This  is  a  yell  of  astonishment  from  the 
Prefect  de  Surete". 

"  You  are  my  subordinate." 

"YOUR  SUBORDINATE?" 

"Yes.  When  you  signed  that  document  appointing 
me  to  the  sole  charge  of  the  '  Affaire  Hermann,'  at  that 
moment  you  became  subject  to  my  orders." 

"I — do — not — understand."  This  last  is  said  slowly, 
in  a  dazed  manner,  by  the  old  man. 

"  This  is  the  reason  you  are  !  "  remarks  Maurice,  pro- 
ducing a  paper  with  the  imperial  seal.  "  Foreseeing  that 
some  such  complication  as  this  might  happen,  two  years 
ago,  I  obtained  from  the  emperor  this  :  Read  it  !  "  and, 
placing  the  document  under  Claude's  eyes,  that  gentle- 
man sees  : 

"  In  case  any  criminal  investigation  is  placed  in  the 
hands  of  Maurice,  Le  Chevalier  de  Verney  for  action,  he 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  25 

shall  have  full  and  complete  control  of  the  Bureau  de 
Surete  for  that  investigation.  Given  at  the  Tuileries, 
Paris,  November  22d,  1866. 

"  Louis  NAPOLEON, 


Seal 

of 

France. 


EMPEROR." 


"  You  see,  in  the  *  Affaire  Hermann/  you  are  my  subor- 
dinate, Mr.  Claude,"  laughs  the  young  man.  Then  he 
says  sternly,  "  Not  a  word  of  danger  to  the  Prince  Imperial 
— to  any  one,  man  or  woman  !  You  will  go  from  here  and 
send  to  me  four  of  your  most  expert  assistants,  one  old 
and  experienced,  two  middle  aged,  one  young,  active 
and  very  cunning.  Let  them  be  here  by  ten  A.M.  It  is 
eight  now — that  will  give  me  an  hour  for  sleep  ;  another 
for  my  toilet  and  breakfast.  Send  by  them  all  papers 
whatsoever  bearing  on  this  matter,  marked  '  Affaire  Her- 
mann.' You  will  also  send  me  a  detail  of  ten  of  your 
most  trusted  officers  for  special  instructions.  I  shall  not 
warn  the  Empress,  but " 

"You  will  guard  the  Prince  Imperial?"  interjects 
Monsieur  Claude. 

"  As  I  would  my  soul !  " 

"  You  young  fashionable  gentlemen  do  not  take  very 
good  care  of  your  souls,"  sneers  the  old  head  of  police. 

"  Then  I'll  guard  the  Prince  Imperial  as  I  would  my 
honor  !  No  one  ever  dared  to  insinuate  I  could  not  pro- 
tect that !  "  returns  de  Verney  hotly.  A  moment  after  he 
continues  quite  coldly  :  "  In  case  there  is  anything  I  wish 
to  consult  you  about,  I  shall  send  for  you."  Here  Mau- 
rice rings  the  bell,  and,  Franpois  answering  it,  he  bows 
and  says,  "  Good  morning." 

The  old  head  of  police  walks  back  to  him  and  whispers 
in  his  ear  :  "  Pardon  me,  but  what  do  you  intend  to  do  at 
ten  o'clock  ? " 


26  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  First,"  replies  Le  Chevalier,  "  search  Monsieur  Her- 
mann's room,  to  see  what  there  really  is  in  it  ;  second, 
to  go  straight  to  the  heart  vf  this  conspiracy." 

"  The  heart  of  this  conspiracy  ?     What  is  that  ?  " 

"THE  HEART  OF  THE  WOMAN  WHO  WROTE 
THOSE  LETTERS  !  I  can't  get  the  whole  of  that 
cipher,  but  I  will  get  the  whole  of  the  heart  of  the  woman 
who  wrote  it  !  I  am  young,  perhaps  good-looking." 
Here  Maurice  catches  his  reflection  in  the  mirror  and 

smiles.  "  I  have  plenty  of  gold  and  plenty  of  brass 

My  dear  Claude,  wish  me  luck.  I'm  going  to  make  love 
to  the  lovely  flower-girl  of  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation 
AND  CATCH  HER !  " 

"  Two  can  play  at  that  game,"  mutters  the  old  thief- 
taker  pointedly.  "  Beware,  she  doesn't  catch  you,  my 
boulevard  Adonis  ! " 

But  the  warning  has  fallen  on  empty  air.  Maurice  de 
Verney  has  torn  off  his  dressing-gown,  plunged  into  bed, 
and  is  already  asleep  and  snoring  the  snores  of  an  ex- 
hausted manhood. 

"  Will  Monsieur  have  a  cup  of  coffee  before  he  goes  ? " 
suggests  Frangois. 

"  No — no  coffee — but  a  glass  of  brandy  !  "  ejaculates 
Claude. 

And  this  being  given  him,  he  gets  down  the  steps 
into  the  quiet  Rue  d'Hautville,  just  waking  up  into 
the  bustle  of  another  day  of  that  gay,  dashing,  ephemeral 
Second  Empire,  and  thinks  ruefully  to  himself  :  "  He'll 
get  all  the  glory  of  this  affair,  and  curse  him  !  I  take  all 
the  risk.  If  anything  happens  to  that  imperial  brat,  I'm 
a  goner ! "  Then  he  gazes  up  at  No.  33  Au  Premier, 
where  he  has  left  Maurice  de  Verney  in  bed,  and  mutters  : 
"  Asleep  when  the  fate  of  the  Empire  is  in  your  hands  ! 
My  jack-o'-dandy,  my  court  pet,  my  woman  charmer  ; 
are  you  a  mountebank  or  are  you  a  colossus  ? " 


CHAPTER   III. 

YOUNG    MICROBE    OF    THE    RUE    DE    JERUSALEM. 

AN  hour  after  this,  Le  Chevalier  de  Verney,  springing 
out  of  bed  once  more,  proceeds  to  make  a  toilet  rather 
different  from  the  usual  one  of  gentlemen  in  his  rank  in 
life  ;  being  more  that  of  an  athlete  in  training  for  the 
ring  than  that  of  a  swell  of  the  boulevards. 

First  incased  in  heavy  flannels,  and  muffled  in  a  blan- 
ket-overcoat, though  it  is  a  rather  warm  April  morning, 
he  runs  round  his  apartments,  using  not  only  his  bed- 
chamber, but  his  parlor  and  library  to  give  length  to  his 
course,  and  taking,  in  his  stride,  the  articles  of  furniture 
that  come  in  his  path  ;  vaulting  over  arm-chairs  and  leap- 
ing tables,  turning,  stopping  and  suddenly  changing  his 
direction,  as  if  dodging  some  imaginary  adversary  or 
pursuer  ;  in  a  manner  to  give  the  greatest  quickness,  agil- 
ity and  activity  to  his  muscles  of  locomotion. 

After,  perhaps,  ten  minutes  of  this  rapid  work,  he  turns 
his  attention  to  the  exercise  of  the  upper  parts  of  his 
body,  using  the  Indian  clubs  for  a  moment,  ten  theh 
lighter  dumb-bells  ;  while  doing  this,  rapidly  running 
about  and  jumping  with  them  in  his  hands,  so  as  to  place 
every  individual  muscle  in  action  at  one  moment.  All 
this  is  done  with  such  incredible  rapidity,  lightness 
and  grace  that  Francois,  though  he  has  seen  such  an 
exhibition  every  morning  since  he  has  been  in  Mon- 
sieur de  Verney's  service,  cries  out,  "  Mon  Dieu ! 
Were  you  not  a  Hercules,  I  should  call  you  an  ante- 
lope !  " 


28  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Perhaps  I'm  both,  Frangois,"  remarks  his  master,  with 
French  vanity,  not  even  panting  from  his  extraordinary 
exertions.  "  Let  me  see  if  I'm  all  right  as  to  power,"  and 
he  seizes  the  giant  dumb-bell  of  his  collection,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  pounder,  and  puts  it  up  quite  easily,  but  does 
so  only  once,  as  if  for  a  test. 

"Parbleu  !  I  believe  I'm  stronger  than  ever  this  morn- 
ing—now as  to  my  activity.  Dodge  me,  Frangois  !  "  he 
cries.  And  before  the  Algerian  veteran  can  make  two 
steps,  he  has  run  to  htm,  caught  him  by  one  arm,  and 
propelled  him  over  his  back  like  the  bow  does  the  arrow. 
The  war-trained  follower,  as  he  hurtles  through  the  air, 
sees  his  young  master  disappearing  into  his  bath-room, 
debonairly  humming  an  earthly  aria  La  Patti  has  made 
divine  to  him  the  night  before  at  Les  Italiens,  where 
she  is  now  having  the  last  of  her  maiden  rule,  and  sing- 
ing the  last  of  her  virgin  songs. 

Monsieur  de  Verney  has  been  thoughtful  of  both  his 
bric-a-brac  and  his  servant,  and  the  place  he  has  selected 
for  the  landing  of  Francois  is  the  soft  mattress  of  his 
luxurious  bed. 

Taking  a  somersault  from  the  force  of  impact  and 
groveling  among  the  lace-trimmed  pillows,  Monsieur 
Frangois  looks  curiously  after  his  master  and  mutters  to 
himself,  "  I  never  thought  but  one  man  in  the  world 
could  give  such  a  fall.  I  never  saw  but  one  wrestler  in 
Paris  use  that  peculiar  throw  in  such  lightning  style.  Can 

it  be  possible  that  my  master  is "  He  checks  himself 

here,  and  a  moment  after  says,  "  Pshaw  !  Monsieur  de 
Verney  has  something  else  to  look  after  than  struggling 
for  the  applause  of  a  mob  and  the  amorous  glances  of 
court  beauties  from  the  concealment  of  their  boxes. 
The  chevalier  can  get  them  without " 

He  is  interrupted  here  by  a  cry  from  the  bath-room. 

"  You  forgot  to  put  the  ice  in  the  shower,  Frangois  ;  it 
is  hardly  bracing  enough."  A  moment  after,  de  Verney 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  29 

appears,  and  sweeping  the  water  from  his  eyes  mutters, 
"  The  hair  towels  !  Quick  !  " 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  thinks  the  servitor  as  he  rubs  his  master 
down.  "  He's  an  Apollo  !  " 

In  this  he  is  wrong.  Maurice  de  Verney,  whose  shin- 
ing skin,  rosy  with  health  and  exercise,  is  just  tinted  by 
the  morning  sun  that  steals  in  through  the  iace  and  silk 
of  his  windows,  is  not  an  Apollo,  but  a  brawny  Hercules 
concealed  in  the  graceful  outlines  and  quick-moving 
limbs  of  a  Mercury. 

Perhaps  he  is  better  described  as  a  physical  combina- 
tion of  the  two.  The  tremendous  power  of  the  loins, 
hips  and  back,  the  magnificent  development  of  the  fore- 
arms, all  indicate  the  giant  strength  of  the  demi-god 
who  clubbed  lions  to  death  and  held  Atlas  up  from 
earth  ;  while  the  lithe,  loose  play  of  the  muscles  of  the 
whole  figure,  the  graceful  ease  of  movement  of  the  per- 
fectly proportioned  hands  and  feet,  give  to  the  whole  body 
the  lightness  and  agility  that  is  pre-eminent  in  the  god 
of  motion. 

Looking  on  him,  a  man  would  have  exclaimed,  "  How 
grand  !  "  a  woman  would  have  cried,  "  How  beautiful ! " 

For  any  coarseness  or  brutality  or  brawniness,  suggested 
by  his  enormous  physical  strength,  is  contradicted  by  the 
light,  graceful  activity  of  each  pose  of  his  body,  and 
entirely  destroyed  by  the  intelligence  of  his  beaming 
blue  eyes  and  soft,  passionate  mouth,  that  would  have 
made  the  face  they  gazed  on  almost  effeminate,  had  these 
not  been  dominated  by  a  grand  forehead  and  massive 
lower  jaws,  that  gave  determination  as  well  as  fortitude 
and  courage  to  this  man's  face. 

This  face,  however,  is  deeply  thoughtful.  Maurice  de 
Verney  is  just  pondering  whether  he  has  been  entirely 
wise  in  his  interview  of  two  hours  ago  with  the  head 
of  police.  "  I  should  have  treated  him  with  more  cour- 
tesy," he  thinks.  "  Youth  should  appear  to  respect  age, 


30  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

even  when  it  despises  it.  Monsieur  Claude  may,  if  he 
dares  and  is  vindictive,  place  some  nasty  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  my  investigation."  A  moment  after  he  mutters 
to  himself,  "  Oh  !  but  it  did  me  good  to  show  him  I  re- 
sented his  two  years'  jealousy."  With  this  he  turns  to 
his  valet,  and  asks  suddenly:  "What  did  Monsieur 
Claude  do  on  leaving  my  room,  this  morning?  " 

"He  asked  for  brandy,"  answers  Franfois,  senten- 
tiously. 

"  And  drank  it  ?  " 

"  As  if  it  were  water  !  Then  either  that  overcame  him 
or  something  else,  for  he  seemed  almost  to  stagger  down 
the  stairs." 

"  He  must  have  been  hit  pretty  hard,"  smiles  Maurice, 
and  with  the  smile  dismisses  Monsieur  Claude  from  his 
mind,  and  runs  over  his  various  plans  of  action  for  the  day. 

While  he  is  thinking,  he  is  dressing,  and  at  9.45  A.  M. 
steps  into  his  dining-room  in  the  light  morning  dress  of 
a  dandy  of  the  Second  Empire.  Embellished  by  the 
finest  of  linen,  the  daintiest,  lightest  and  loosest  of  silk 
cravats,  and  the  freshest  of  rose-buds,  Maurice  de  Ver- 
ney  has  more  the  appearance  of  a  boulevard  butterfly 
than  that  of  a  man  beginning  one  of  those  games  of 
chance  where  victory  is  life-long  triumph,  and  defeat  the 
loss  of  even  another  chance  to  try  again.  "  Egad  !  " 
he  thinks,  "  if  anything  happens  to  that  '  hope-of-the- 
empire '  now,  I'd  better  turn  Republican  ;  there'll  be  no 
hope  for  me  under  Napoleon." 

However,  he  sits  down  to  his  rolls,  eggs,  and  coffee, 
and  has  a  good  appetite,  for  he  suddenly  orders  Fran£ois, 
"  Have  a  steak  a  la  Americain  cooked.  I  shall  have  no 
time  for  anything  till  dinner,  and  starvation  sharpens  the 
intellect  for  the  pursuit  of  provisions,  not  criminals." 

He  has  hardly  finished  his  steak  when  Francois  comes 
in  to  him  with  a  very  serious  face  and  says  :  "  There  are 
four  gentlemen  in  the  parlor  who  wish  to  speak  to  you. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  31 

They  look  as  if  they  were  the  agents  of  Monsieur  Claude. 
I  was  once  on  duty  for  a  year  at  the  Prefecture  of  Police, 
and  know  the  look  of  these  gentry.  You  are  not  in 
trouble,  Monsieur  de  Verney  ? "  And  the  old  military 
servant  gazes  at  his  young  master  with  a  good  deal  of 
love  in  his  sturdy  countenance. 

Standing  as  he  does  with  military  erectness,  Francois 
Le  Brun,  his  hair  slightly  grizzled,  his  face  still  tinged 
with  the  tan  of  an  African  sun,  his  forehead  and  chin 
wearing  the  honorable  scars  of  Arab  sword-cuts,  his 
eyes  piercing,  his  mouth  firm,  save  where  the  under  lip 
trembles  with  anxiety  for  the  young  man  he  loves,  the 
old  French  soldier  looks  like  a  veteran  of  the  First 
Republic,  one  of  those  that  made  the  once  lost  field  of 
Marengo  a  final  triumph,  and  the  impossible  bridge  of 
Arcola  a  military  possibility. 

Noting  his  concern,  de  Verney  remarks  :  "  There  is  no 
danger  to  me,  Frangois,  if  I  succeed.  Perhaps  it  is  my 
duty  to  you  to  tell  you  that  I  am  about  engaging  in  an 
enterprise  of  the  greatest  importance  to  France.  That 
what  I  require  from  you  are  two  things  you  have  always 
given  me — obedience  and  silence." 

"  And  also  love!  "  mutters  the  old  servant. 

But  his  master  does  not  apparently  hear  this,  as  he 
says  suddenly  :  "  Send  those  gentlemen  in  to  me.  Time 
is  precious,  and  I  can  eat  and  talk  also." 

Frangois  salutes,  and  a  moment  after  shows  in  four  very 
peculiar  looking  gentlemen. 

They  introduce  themselves  by  the  names  of  Alphonse 
Jolly,  Henri  Marcillac,  Victor  Regnier,  and  Ravel 
Microbe.  Messieurs  Marcillac  and  Jolly  are  staid  vet- 
erans of  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem.  They  have  been  spies 
upon  Republicans  during  Royalty  in  France,  informers 
upon  Imperialists  during  the  brief  Republic,  and  now  are 
having  an  eye  upon  Monsieur  Rochefort  and  his  reds;  for 
they  are  simply  detective  policemen,  and  have  only  the 


32  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

polities  of  those  who  employ  them ;  *>.,  the  party  in  power. 
Jolly  can  remember  as  far  back  as  the  time  of  Vidocq,  and 
is  very  proud  of  having  made  his  debut  on  the  police 
under  that  celebrated  old  galley-slave  and  thief-taker. 

These  two  have  been  already  employed  watching  the 
actions  of  Monsieur  Hermann  Margo,  the  suspect  ;  they 
tell  precisely  the  same  story  as  to  his  actions  as  Monsieur 
Claude.  Since  they  have  found  him  in  Paris,  he  has  done 
nothing,  spoken  to  no  one  on  the  streets,  and  when  they 
searched  his  room  they  found  only  the  manuscript  of  a 
chemical  treatise  which  he  evidently  was  writing.  "  He 
has  fixed  habits,"  remarks  Jolly.  "  He  always  takes  his 
exercise  between  ten  and  twelve  in  the  forenoon." 

"Always  ?    Where  does  he  walk  ?  "  queries  Maurice. 

"  On  the  main  boulevard.  His  beat  is  as  regular  as  a 
sergeant  de  ville's,  from  Montmartre  to  the  Rue  Royale  ; 
on  the  right  hand  side  going  west,  and  the  opposite  one 
returning." 

"  He  makes  that  promenade  each  day  ?  " 

"  Invariably." 

"  Never  goes  any  further  ?  " 

"  Never  !  Did  he  not  from  his  actions  seem  to  know 
Paris,  I  should  have  thought  he  was  afraid  of  getting 
lost,"  laughs  Marcillac. 

"  He  does  not  speak  to  a  soul  ?  " 

"  Not  a  human  being.  Even  buys  his  rose-bud  each 
day  silently.  Simply  lays  down  a  ten  sous  piece  and 
picks  up  a  boutonni'ere" 

"  From  a  flower-girl  ? "  says  Maurice  quickly. 

"  No.  Always  at  the  kiosk  opposite  the  Varietes.  It 
is  the  nearest  one  to  the  commencement  of  his  prom- 
enade." 

"  That's  all  you  know  ?  " 

"  Everything !  " 

"  Then,"  orders  Maurice,  "  you  two  gentlemen  will 
proceed  at  once  to  Monsieur  Hermann's  lodgings,  No. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  33 

55  Rue  de  Maubeuge.     He  is  hardly  more  than  awake 
by  this  time,  as  I  left  him  at  three  o'clock  this  morning." 

At  this  astounding  statement  to  the  four  detectives, 
they  gaze  at  each  other.  De  Verney,  however,  makes  no 
comment,  and  continues,  "  You  will  note  every  movement 
of  his  or  any  visitors  he  may  have.  In  case  he  goes  out, 
you,  Jolly,  will  follow  his  promenade,  and  you,  Marcillac, 
will  still  watch  his  lodgings,  but  send  a  messenger  imme- 
diately to  me,  notifying  me  of  his  absence.  You  had 
better  go  at  once." 

The  two  take  their  leave,  Maurice  remarking  to  them 
en  passant,  "  I  presume  you  are  good  friends  with  la 
concierge  ?  " 

"  Ain't  we,"  returns  Jolly,  with  a  solemn  grin.  "The 
old  woman  who  keeps  Hermann's  lodgings  was  once  Rose 
Passeul  of  the  Odeon,  in  '45.  I  was  a  wild  boy  then.  Eh  ! 
Marciliac  ? "  and  he  gives  a  sexagenarian  nudge  to  his 
companion  as  they  exit. 

After  a  moment's  contemplation  upon  Monsieur  Her- 
mann's regularity  of  promenade,  and  invariable  purchase 
of  rose-buds,  de  Verney  turns  to  the  other  two  Agents  de 
Sfiret'e.  They  are  in  great  contrast  to  the  men  who 
have  left,  and  much  younger,  Regnier  being  scarcely 
forty,  and  Microbe  hardly  over  twenty-five  years  of  age. 

Regnier  is  a  stern-looking  man,  whose  grin  is  even 
savage,  but  he  has  an  appearance  of  firmness  that  would 
lead  one  to  trust  him  on  all  occasions,  even  where  it  cost 
him  much  to  be  faithful.  He  is  laconic  in  speech,  and 
carefully  though  not  expensively  dressed,  while  Jolly 
and  Marcillac  are  probably  niggardly  in  their  habits ; 
their  clothes  being  apparently  second-hand  suits  pur- 
chased in  some  slop  shop  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine, 
and  then  worn  to  a  second  old  age,  that  is  more  ragged 
greasy  and  disreputable  than  their  first  one. 

In  bright  contrast  to  even  the  respectability  of  Regnier 
is  the  radiant  young  Microbe. 
3 


34  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

This  elh>e  of  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem,  whose  father  was 
a  thief -taker  before  him,  and  who  has,  as  it  were,  grown 
up  in  the  business,  is  gorgeous  in  the  resplendent  attire 
of  a  petit  cr eve,  that  shows  he  would  like  to  rival  Duval 
le  jeune  in  magnificent  raiment ;  were  the  detective  busi- 
ness rolling  in  millions  like  selling  soup  at  ten  centimes 
a  plate  to  Parisian  bourgeois. 

To  these  two  Maurice  briefly  explains  the  business  in 
which  he  wishes  their  aid,  telling  them  a  good  deal  about 
Monsieur  Hermann,  but  nothing  about  the  flower-girl  of 
the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation  or  the  Prince  Imperial.  Now 
he  says,  "  Monsieur  Regnier,  what  do  you  think  ? " 

"I  never  think,"  replies  that  laconic  officer  ;  "when  I 
am  a  subordinate,  I  do  what  I  am  told,  and  let  my  supe- 
rior do  the  thinking." 

"  Very  well,  in  that  case  you  will  go  immediately  to 
the  flower  kiosk  opposite  the  Varietes.  Stay  there  until 
relieved,  and  report  to  me  who  keeps  the  place,  and  if 
anything  whatsoever  happens  unusual  or  striking  in  the 
business  of  the  stand  ;  also,  if  any  person  calls  more  than 
once  ;  their  appearance  and  what  they  say  or  do  !  "  re- 
marks Maurice. 

"  As  you  order  !  "  says  Regnier,  and  with  that  and  a 
bow  leaves  the  apartment. 

Then  the  chevalier  turns  to  Microbe  with  a  smile  and 
suggests,  "  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  Regnier  is  an  infernal  fool  !  "  ejaculates  the 
dandy  policeman,  whom  Maurice  can  see  has  for  the  last 
few  minutes  been  nervous  to  get  in  his  word.  "  He 
couldn't  make  head  nor  tail  of  the  matter,  so  he  resorted 
to  his  laconics  ;  old  detectives  are  like  old  doctors,  and  in 
dubious  cases  prefer  to  say  nothing  and  look  wise.  Now 
1  like  to  say  what  I  think,  and  I  think  this  Hermann 
Margo,  or  Schultz,  takes  his  walk  every  day  between  ten 
and  twelve  o'clock  on  his  beaten  track  because  he  expects 
some  day  to  meet  the  man  with  the  other  half  of  those 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 


35 


cipher  letters— then  they  will  compare  them,  read  the 
cipher  and  destroy  them.  That  is  the  reason  he  still  has 
or  had  his  letters  and  still  takes  his  walks" 

"  And  young  detectives  are  very  like  young  doctors,"  re- 
joins Maurice.  "  But  I  entirely  agree  with  you,  Monsieur 
Microbe.  However,  we'll  test  this  to-day.  In  case  our 
supposition  is  right,  the  man  Hermann  not  having  his 
letters  will  not  take  his  walk,  or  will  vary  or  modify  it  in 
some  way.  Do  you  think  the  rose-buds  he  buys  at  the 
kiosk  have  any  bearing  on  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Probably  !  "  remarks  Microbe  after  contemplatively 
whistling  a  bar  or  two  of  Offenbach's  Orpheus.  "  But 
before  I  speak  definitely,  I'd  like  to  know  a  little  more 
about  the  kiosk  and  its  salespeople  !  ". 

"  I  see  young  detectives  are  not  always  like  young 
doctors  !  "  laughs  Maurice.  "  They  have  sometimes 
doubts  in  regard  to  their  diagnosis.  However,  you're 
about  the  man  I'm  looking  for — you  have  youth,  activity, 
wit,  and,  at  times,  prudence.  The  affair  in  which  I  need 
your  aid  is  of  such  a  peculiar  nature  and  concerns  so 
exalted  a  personage  that  I  shall  not  tell  you  all  in  this 
matter — at  least,  not  at  present." 

"  That  is  as  monsieur  pleases,"  replies  young  Microbe, 
"  but,  if  I  don't  know  all  you  know,  don't  expect  my 
guessing  to  be  as  sharp  as  yours  is." 

"  I  must  take  that  chance,"  returns  de  Verney — then 
after  a  pause  he  asks  a  question,  "  Do  you  know,  or  have 
you  seen  in  your  wanderings  about  Paris  (for  from 
the  cut  of  your  coat  I  should  imagine  you  see  most 
of  the  sights  of  the  city),  a  pretty  flower-girl  who 
often  sells  children  flowers  at  the  Jardin  d'Acclimata- 
tion  ?  " 

The  answer  he  gets  astonishes  him.  "  What  !  Louise  !  " 
calmly  remarks  Ravel,  stroking  his  imperial  supercil- 
iously ;  "  I  should — rather — think — I — do  !  She's  the 
most  fetching  thing  in  the  female  flower  line  that's  been 


36  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

seen  in  Paris  since  Isabel,  who  used  to  be  the  pet  of  the 
Jockey  Club  and  sell  those  aristocrats  of  the  turf  posies 
at  a  napoleon  apiece.  In  a  month  she'll  be  more  popular 
than  ever  Isabel  was.  Louise  is  knowing  ;  she,  plays  her 
cards  like  a  croupier  at  Baden-Baden.  She's  mashed 
the  Prince  Imperial,  and  that  little  potentate  comes  three 
times  a  week  to  the  Jardin,  or  the  Bois  just  at  the  gates 
of  it,  sulks  when  he  doesn't  see  her,  and  will  buy  flowers 
for  his  playmates  from  no  other  hands  !  " 

This  revelation  gives  a  shiver  to  Maurice  who  fears  his 
assistant  may  be  so  much  in  love  with  Louise  that  he 
may  not  only  be  useless  but  dangerous  to  him.  After 
turning  this  over  in  his  mind,  he  is  delighted  he  has  told 
Microbe  no  more  than  he  has,  and  asks  carelessly,  "  You 
know  this  Louise  very  well  then  ?  " 

The  answer  that  comes  relieves  him. 

"  Unfortunately  I  don't,"  says  Ravel,  with  a  French 
shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  I  have  tried  to  know  Made- 
moiselle, and  I  think  she  knows  me  ;  for,  the  other  day,  I 
gave  her  one  of  my  Quartier- Latin  glances,  and  she  gave 
me  in  return  the  scowl  of  a  fiend — and  that  after  I  had 
paid  a  franc  to  the  extortionate  little  witch  for  a  rose  not 
worth  two  sous." 

"  Is  she  so  small— you  always  call  her  petite  ?  "  asks 
Maurice. 

"  No,  but  she's  so  deuced  pretty.  I  always  call  pretty 
women  petite,  don't  you  ?  "  mutters  Ravel.  "  However, 
I'll  have  a  try  at  an  acquaintance  again  before  I've  done 
with  la  petite  diable  !  "  As  he  says  this  last,  Microbe's 
eyes  sparkle  with  anticipated  triumph,  he  passes  his  hand 
through  his  hair,  pulls  his  cravat  into  place,  and  utters 
complacently,  "  Few  of  them  resist  me  long  !  " 

"No,  I  should  judge  not,"  echoes  Maurice.  "  But 
you  must  forego  your  triumph  over  Louise,  at  least  for 
the  present.  For  the  purposes  of  this  business,  I  wish  to 
make  her  acquaintance  myself." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  37 

"  Wh-e-u-gh  ! "  This  is  a  very  prolonged  and  very 
knowing  whistle  from  Ravel  Microbe. 

"  For  the  purposes  of  this  business,"  continues  Mau- 
rice sternly,  "  and  for  no  other  !  I  wish  to  become 
acquainted  with  her  under  circumstances  that  will  open 
the  way  to  an  easy  continuance.  Perhaps,  I  had  better 
be  thought  by  her  rather  a  hero.  Now,  you  must  give 
me  that  opportunity,  Monsieur  Microbe  !  " 

"  I  !— How  ?  " 

"  By  appearing  to  insult  her.  You  must  wait  until 
the  girl  leaves  the  '  Bois  '  on  her  way  home  and  gets 
into  one  of  the  quieter  streets.  By-the-bye,  do  you  know 
where  the  young  lady  lives  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  but  it's  somewhere  in  the  direction  of 
Passy." 

"  Out  in  that  suburb  she's  pretty  certain  to  get  into  some 
street  where  there  are  few  people.  Then  you  must 
approach  her,  and — but  I  had  better  give  you  your 
instructions  in  writing,  so  that  there  can  be  no  mistake  !  " 
Maurice  writes  down  a  dozen  lines  on  paper,  and,  after 
careful  consideration,  signs  the  document,  hands  it  to 
Microbe,  and  says,  "  Follow  this  implicitly." 

After  looking  over  his  instructions,  young  Microbe 
gives  a  yell  of  laughter  and  cries  :  u  This  is  a  com- 
edy !  " 

"  No  !  "  replies  de  Verney  sternly.  "  Unless  we  do 
our  duty  very  sharply,  it  is  a  tragedy  that  will  shake 
the  world  !  " 

"  Very  well,"  returns  his  assistant  rather  demurely. 
"I'll  put  on  my  Mabille  suit,  and  do  your  bidding." 
Then  he  says  suddenly:  "  And  if  we  succeed  in  this  great 
matter,  Monsieur  de  Verney,  what  am  I  to  get  ?  " 

"  My  ruby  ring,  that  you  have  been  looking  at  so  atten- 
tively, and  admiring  for  the  last  ten  minutes — and  the 
reward  that  a  detective  gets  when  he  has  done  something 
that  astonishes  the  Emperor." 


38  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

But  here  Microbe  astonishes  him,  for  he  gets  up  sud- 
denly and  carefully  inspects  the  ruby  ring. 

"  The  first  part  of  your  reward  is  definite,  Monsieur  le 
Chevalier,"  he  remarks,  "  and  I  always  like  to  know  the 
value  of  my  property,  for  that  ruby  ring  is  now  mine. 
By  George  !  it's  worth  two  hundred  louis."  This  last 
in  a  tone  of  joy. 

"  Ah  !  you  have  the  confidence  of  youth,"  laughs 
Maurice. 

"  Yes  ;  and  the  activity  of  one,  also,"  returns  Microbe. 
"  This  comedy,  or  tragedy,  as  you  describe  it,  shall  be 
played  to  the  letter,  Monsieur  de  Verney.  Au  revoir, 
till  we  meet  before  the  flower-girl  of  the  Jardin  d'Accli- 
matation."  And  with  a  grin  this  pupil  of  the  Rue  de 
Jerusalem  vanishes. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  can  trust  him,"  meditates  his  director. 
"  I  must  trust  somebody  ;  and  better  youth,  wit,  activity, 
even  with  rashness,  than  old  age,  stupidity,  and  ancient 
rule  of  thumb." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

NUMBER    55    RUE    DE    MAUBEUGE. 

AT  this  moment  Frangois  whispers  in  his  ear,  "  There  are 
some  more  of  the  same  kind  in  the  salon  ;  they  dropped 
in  by  one's  and  two's  quietly  while  you  were  talking  to 
the  first  four." 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"A  little  after  ten." 

"  Then  I  haven't  a  moment  to  lose,"  and  Maurice  de 
Verney  steps  into  his  parlor,  where  he  quietly  gives,  to  the 
men  he  meets  there,  the  most  minute  instructions  regard- 
ing their  watch  over  the  Prince  Imperial  from  the  moment 
he  leaves  the  Tuileries  to  visit  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  until 
he  returns  to  the  safety  of  the  palace  and  its  military 
guards. 

These  instructions  have  been  very  carefully  thought 
out,  and  are  delivered  in  writing  with  the  utmost  circum- 
spection. 

As  the  Officiers  de  Sdrete  depart,  Maurice  gives  a  sigh 
of  relief.  Now,  in  case  the  Prince  goes  to  the  Jardin 
d'Acclimatation,  he'll  be  well  taken  care  of.  Though 
Tuesday  is  not  one  of  his  regular  days  for  visiting  the 
Bois,  there  is  no  certainty  that  this  petted  young  gen- 
tleman may  not  get  permission  and  drive  to  the  Jardin 
d'Acclimatation  at  any  time. 

His  mind  released  to  a  certain  extent  from  this  care, 
the  chevalier  is  ready  to  turn  his  immediate  attention  to 
the  chemist  with  the  cipher  letters. 

Of  each  of  these  he  makes  an  accurate  and  very  care- 


40  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

ful  copy,  which  he  locks  up  ;  then  re-ties  the  originals 
with  the  little  red  ribbon  that  was  on  them,  and  places 
the  package  in  his  pocket. 

He  has  hardly  finished  this  when  a  messenger  comes 
from  Monsieur  Marcillac,  stating  that  the  man  Hermann 
has  left  his  rooms  for  his  morning  walk,  that  Monsieur 
Jolly  has  strolled  after  him,  and  he  has,  as  ordered,  noti- 
fied Monsieur  de  Verney  that  the  man  Hermann's  rooms 
are  now  empty. 

At  this,  Maurice  instantly  puts  on  his  hat  and  departs 
for  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge,  scarce  noting  in  his  hurry 
that  the  day  is  almost  a  perfect  one,  and  Paris  is  appar- 
ently coming  out  to  enjoy  it,  the  streets  being  already 
full  of  people.  He  walks  rapidly  up  the  Rue  d'Haut- 
ville  to  the  Place  de  La  Fayette,  then,  passing  the  church 
of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  on  his  right,  he  turns  into 
the  Rue  de  Belzunce,  and  is  at  55  Rue  de  Maubeuge 
within  ten  minutes  after  he  has  received  the  report. 

Here  he  is  immediately  joined  by  Marcillac,  who  has 
been  spending  his  time  seated  near  the  window  of  an  oppo- 
site wine-shop.  This  gentleman  tells  him  that,  since  the 
man  Hermann  left  twenty  minutes  ago,  followed  by  Mon- 
sieur Jolly,  no  one  has  visited  No.  55. 

"  What  direction  did  Hermann  take  ?  "  asks  Maurice 
hurriedly. 

"  The  usual  one— towards  the  main  boulevards — the 
one  he  has  taken  since  we  have  supervised  his  move- 
ments !  "  remarks  Marcillac,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  Was  there  anything  unusual  in  his  appearance  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not." 

This  is  disappointing.  Maurice  had  expected  that  the 
loss  of  the  letters  would  have  changed  the  man  Her- 
mann's movements  in  some  way.  Not  having  his  half  of 
the  cipher,  he  would  not  try  to  meet  the  man  with  the 
other  half. 

"  I  think  he  walked  a  little  faster  than  usual/'  contin- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  41 

ties  Marcillac,  evidently  anxious  to  display  his  powers  of 
observation. 

"  Very  well,"  replies  de  Verney.  "  If  all  is  ready,  I 
would  like  to  look  at  Monsieur  Hermann's  apartments 
— la  concierge  understands  ?  " 

"  Everything  !  "  replies  Marcillac.  "  She  has  the  key  of 
the  room  ready  for  us  now.  Ah,  here  it  is  !  "  For,  while 
speaking,  the  two  have  crossed  the  street  and  stand  at 
the  window  of  madame,  la  concierge,  who  is  looking  at 
them  with  a  relic  of  the  old-time  Odeon  grin  on  her  face, 
and  the  key  in  readiness  for  Monsieur  Marcillac. 

"  Show  me  his  rooms,"  whispers  Maurice,  and  they 
ascend  to  the  third  floor  where  the  man  Hermann  has 
three  small  apartments  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

Then,  the  door  being  unlocked,  he  goes  in,  saying  : 
"  Marcillac,  please  step  down  stairs  and  return  the  key  to 
the  old  woman  ;  this  is  a  spring  lock,  and  when  I  shut 
the  door  it  will  lock  itself.  In  case  of  Hermann's  sudden 
return,  let  la  concierge  give  him  the  key  without  a  word  ; 
I'll  trust  to  my  wits  to  pass  him  in  the  darkness  of  the 
stairs.  After  giving  the  woman  the  key,  do  you  go  out 
into  the  street  and  prevent  Hermann's  surprising  me  here 
examining  his  effects."  The  officer  turns  to  go,  when 
de  Verney  suddenly  asks,  "  Had  you  any  signal  when 
you  searched  his  room  before  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir.  You  see  that  line  hanging  carelessly  from 
the  roof  of  this  house  past  these  windows,  and  descend- 
ing to  the  yard  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  replies  Maurice,  for  they  have  now 
entered  the  room,  though  they  have  been  careful  neither 
to  touch  nor  disarrange  anything  in  it. 

"  Well,  I  go  into  the  yard  and  swing  the  line  twice 
against  the  window  ?  " 

"  That  will  be  all  I  need.  Now  you  had  better  get  on 
the  look-out  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"All  right,  sir."     With  this  the  old  detective  officer 


42  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

leaves  the  young  volunteer  in  possession  of  the  apart- 
ments, and,  taking  the  key,  his  steps  can  be  heard  upon 
the  creaking  stairs. 

Maurice  instantly  closes  the  door  opening  on  to  the 
passage-way,  then  gazes  about  him,  and  a  moment  after 
mutters  to  himself  :  "  Cursed  if  this  isn't  the  meanest 
business  I  was  ever  in  ;  searching  for  this  poor  devil's  se- 
crets like  a  burglar  or  a  sneak-thief.  I'm  hanged  if  I  don't 
feel  like  one  now."  A  moment  after,  however,  phi- 
losophy comes  to  his  rescue,  and  he  remarks  :  "  Pish  ! 
Conspirators  must  be  fought  with  their  own  weapons," 
and  begins  the  examination  of  the  rooms. 

These  consist  of  a  little  parlor,  a  smaller  bed-room  off 
it — the  two  occupying  the  whole  back  of  the  house 
upon  that  floor.  Behind  the  parlor,  however,  is  a 
smaller  room,  unlighted,  save  by  artificial  light,  which, 
though  scarcely  more  than  a  large  closet,  has  apparently 
been  fitted  up  as  a  chemical  laboratory.  The  furniture 
of  all  these  rooms  is  of  the  plainest,  the  tables  and 
chairs  being  of  painted  pine.  The  bed  in  the  next 
room,  which  Maurice  can  see  from  the  place  at  which 
he  stands,  is  without  ornament,  and  its  linen  pillows, 
blankets,  and  coverlet  by  no  means  of  the  finest,  though 
clean  enough.  The  parlor  is  lighted  by  two  windows, 
and  the  bed-room  by  one.  These  look  out  upon  an 
old-fashioned  court-yard,  quite  small,  but  still  capable 
of  containing  an  immense  amount  of  French  filth.  This 
place  has  almost  reached  its  storage  capacity  for  rubbish, 
in  the  form  of  old  bottles,  rags,  and  bric-a-brac  of  the 
street,  collected,  no  doubt,  for  sale  to  the  traveling 
chiffonnier.  Any  one  jumping  out  of  the  window  would 
assuredly  be  cut  nearly  in  pieces  by  the  bottles  he  would 
fall  upon. 

"  In  case  I  am  surprised  here,  I  have  no  means  of 
exit  save  the  regulation  door  and  stairs,"  thinks  the 
chevalier,  as  he  surveys  this,  and  inspects  the  windows 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  43 

opposite,  to  be  sure  that  no  one  is  watching  his  search 
from  across  the  court-yard. 

This  apparently  being  not  the  case,  de  Verney  turns  to 
the  main  portion  of  his  labor.  He  carefully  inspects  the 
rooms  as  to  any  dust  or  dirt  there  may  be  in  them  ;  first, 
to  discover  if,  by  some  disturbed  dust,  some  unused  por- 
tion of  the  room  has  been  employed  for  the  concealment 
of  any  object ;  second,  to  be  sure  that  he  will  leave  no 
tracks  of  hands  or  feet  about  the  apartments  to  betray 
his  having  been  there,  to  their  occupant  upon  his  return. 

This  examination  he  soon  finds  a  useless  labor. 
Glancing  at  the  impromptu  laboratory,  Maurice  says  sud- 
denly :  "  Pshaw  !  The  idea  of  looking  for  dust  in  a 
chemist's  rooms.  A  few  particles  in  one  of  his  experi- 
ments would  spoil  his  investigation.  A  chemist  hates 
dust  from  force  of  science  !  " 

This  is  apparently  true  in  this  case.  The  apartments 
are  models  of  cleanliness,  though  the  bed  has  not  yet 
been  made  for  the  day,  showing  that  its  owner  had  evac- 
uated it  in  a  hurry.  Two  untouched  rolls,  a  pot  of 
coffee,  and  some  butter  upon  the  table  in  the  parlor  are 
an  additional  proof  of  Monsieur  Hermann's  haste  this 
morning. 

"  If  he's  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  away,  he  may  be  in  a 
hurry  to  get  back,"  thinks  the  chevalier,  and  he  proceeds 
with  his  work  in  a  hurry  also,  for  he  has  no  thought  of 
Hermann  having  fled  from  the  room.  The  man's  clothes, 
overcoat,  and  some  clean  collars,  just  returned  from  the 
wash,  with  a  number  of  articles  of  personal  convenience, 
all  contradict  such  an  idea. 

Maurice  first  examines  the  bedroom  and  finds  nothing 
suspicious — the  parlor  gives  him  the  same  result,  though 
he  makes  the  investigation  very  regularly  and  thoroughly  ; 
even  examining  the  gas-burners  for  what  may  be  con- 
cealed in  them.  He  does  this,  not  by  turning  on  the  gas 
and  seeing  if  it  flows  freely,  which  would  be  the  most 


44  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

rapid  test;  but  carefully,  by  means  of  a  small  pair  of 
pincers  he  finds  in  the  laboratory,  unscrews  and  replaces 
each  burner.  The  first  method  might  leave  a  suspicious 
odor  behind  it. 

He  has  almost  given  up  hope  of  any  result  when,  as  he 
turns  from  the  room,  chancing  to  glance  into  the  grate  of 
the  open  fireplace,  not  recently  used,  the  weather  having 
been  warm,  he  sees  three  faded  white  rose-buds  that 
have  been  carelessly  tossed  there. 

The  man  has  been  in  Paris  three  days,  on  each  day  he 
has  purchased  or  received  a  white  rose-bud — Maurice 
remembers  the  last  words  of  the  cipher : 

"  ADDITIONAL  TO  FOLLOW  EACH  RED  ROSE-BUD." 

If  his  reading  of  the  cipher  is  correct,  Monsieur  Her- 
mann has,  so  far,  received  no  communication  since  his 
arrival  in  Paris. 

He  carefully  examines  each  faded  bud  ;  they  are  in  no 
way  different  to  those  florists  usually  sell,  and  he  replaces 
them  where  he  found  them. 

There  is  only  the  laboratory  now  left.  To  investigate 
this  he  is  compelled  to  light  a  gas-jet,  and  is  relieved  to 
find  this  suite  of  apartments  does  not  have  a  separate 
meter.  No  indication  will  be  given  of  his  having  been 
here  by  any  increased  registry  of  the  amount  of  gas 
used. 

"  This  increase  would  be  scarcely  noticeable,  but  it's 
these  small  things,  these  minor  details,  that  usually  mean 
success  or  failure  in  most  people's  lives,  and  I  don't  like 
to  take  chances,"  meditates  Maurice. 

All  this  time  he,  as  rapidly  as  possible,  is  inspecting  the 
little  laboratory  of  the  German. 

There  are  only  the  ordinary  bottles,  beakers,  and  retorts, 
together  with  the  usual  tubing  for  handling  gases  ;  a 
large  wash-bottle,  apparently  arranged  for  the  genera- 
tion of  carbonic-acid  gas,  as  it  is  filled  with  broken  mar- 
ble, and  a  couple  of  good-sized  rubber  tubes  attached  to 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  45 

it.  These,  with  a  little  gas-furnace,  a  blow-pipe,  and  a 
test-tube  or  two,  together  with  some  bottles  of  apparently 
harmless  drugs,  constitute  the  whole  affair. 

The  laboratory  is  apparently  innocent,  but,  though 
having  only  the  general  knowledge  of  physical  science 
that  comes  with  a  good  military  education,  Maurice  de 
Verney  cannot  help  reflecting  that  if  Monsieur  Hermann 
is  conducting  any  really  intricate  investigation  or  exper- 
iment, how  inadequate  his  apparatus  is  for  such  work  ; 
and  muses  :  "  It's  all  very  well  to  believe  that  Sir  Hum- 
phry Davy  discovered  the  principles  of  the  safety-lamp 
with  a  few  clay  pipes  and  the  materials  of  a  small  drug- 
shop  in  Cornwall ;  but  he  was  a  boy  of  twelve,  could 
get  no  better — and  was  a  genius.  This  man  is  in  Paris, 
within  reach  of  the  conveniences  of  some  of  our  great 
laboratories — : — " 

He  has  time  for  no  further  thought ;  the  line  in  the 
court-yard  is  flung  violently  twice  against  the  window. 
It  is  Marcillac's  signal  ! 

The  man  Hermann  is  returning  ! 

Maurice  instantly  turns  out  the  gas,  steps  cautiously 
into  the  hall  and  closes  the  door  behind  him,  trying  it  to 
be  sure  the  spring  lock  has  worked. 

He  has  left  every  article  in  the  precise  condition  in 
which  he  found  it ;  not  even  the  most  observing  could  sus- 
pect it  had  been  visited.  He  turns  away  from  the  door 
feeling  sure  that  Hermann  will  have  no  suspicions. 

As  he  thinks  this,  however,  even  his  iron  nerves  give  a 
sudden  snap.  The  man  Hermann,  coming  up  in  three- 
stairs-a-jump  active  bounds,  is  right  upon  him.  Before 
he  can  turn  away  he  will  surely  be  perceived. 

Almost  by  instinct  Maurice  raises  his  hand  and  knocks 
upon  the  door  loudly— then,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
repeats  the  operation,  emphasizing  it  with  a  slightly 
vicious  kick  and  cries  :  "  Wake  up  !  " 

«  Ho  ! — ah  !     You  wish  to  see  me  ? "  remarks  the  man 


46  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Hermann,  who  has  watched  these  attacks  upon  his  door,  at 
first,  perhaps,  in  a  slightly  suspicious  manner. 

"By  your  voice  you're  the  person  I'm  looking  for," 
remarks  de  Verney,  turning  suddenly  towards  him.  "  It's 
too  dark  to  see  you,  but  the  voice  is  that  of  last  night. 
I  thought  you  hadn't  got  up  yet." 

"  Ah  !  I  recognize  your  voice  also  now  !  "  returns  Her- 
mann. "  You're  the  gentleman  who  came  to  my  assistance 
when  I  was  attacked  by  those  cut-throats  last  night. 
Your  explanation  saved  me  trouble  with  the  police." 

"I  had  two  reasons  for  calling  on  you  this  morn- 
ing," says  Maurice.  "  But,  if  you'll  open  the  door,  I'll  be 
able  to  see  a  little  better  what  I'm  doing." 

"Yes,  the  light  here  is  only  suitable  for  cats,  though 
they  seem  to  prefer  the  court-yard  by  their  evening 
soirees  musicales"  laughs  Hermann.  "  But  come  in  !  " 
With  this  he  unlocks  the  door  and,  throwing  it  open,  says, 
"  Sit  down  and  smoke  a  pipe  while  I  get  something  to 
eat.  I  awoke  late,  and  business  compelled  breakfast  to 
wait." 

"  Thanks,  I'll  light  a  cigar,"  murmurs  de  Verney, 
declining  politely  the  meerschaum,  whose  dark  color  indi- 
cates many  a  smoking-bout  in  the  beer  halls  of  Heidel- 
berg and  Freiburg. 

"  Come,  have  breakfast  with  me  !  I  can't  give  you  much 
— some  boiled  eggs,  rolls,  coffee.  Eh  ?  Don't  say  no  !  I 
am  delighted  to  see  you.  I  know  so  few,  I  speak  to  no 
one,  I  am  all  alone,  and  the  use  of  the  tongue  is  as  neces- 
sary to  man  as  to  woman." 

"  Trite  but  true ! "  remarks  Maurice,  lighting  his 
Havana. 

"If  you  don't  believe  it,  go  without  friends,  compan- 
ions, small -talk  just  for  three  days — that's  my  limit  of 
experience — and  you'll  love  any  woman,  or  man  either, 
who'll  talk  to  you  and  listen  in  return.  But  you'll  have 
breakfast  with  me  ?  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  47 

"  No,  that  is  impossible  ;  I  have  already  eaten," 
returns  Maurice  brusquely.  Accepting  the  hospitality, 
breaking  bread  with  this  man  whom  he  is  seeking  to 
make  a  criminal,  seems  so  contemptibly  treacherous  that 
he  is  almost  impolite  in  his  refusal.  He  says  :  "  You 
prepare  your  breakfast,  then  I'll  tell  you  what  brought  me 
here." 

"  All  right ;  I'll  not  keep  you  waiting  long.  A  chemist 
can  always  cook.  It's  part  of  the  science  !  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you  !  " 

"  No  !  then  look  at  me  !  "  With  this  Hermann  opens  a 
drawer,  produces  two  eggs,  takes  a  glass  beaker,  half  fills 
it  with  water,  lights  a  gas  argand  burner,  pops  the  beaker 
over  it  and  has  the  water  boiling  in  two  minutes.  In  go 
the  eggs.  While  they  boil,  the  coffee  is  heating  over  the 
gas-furnace  he  has  lighted  between-times  ;  the  rolls  ditto. 

During  the  time  he  has  been  doing  this,  Maurice  has 
been  attentively  studying  him.  Monsieur  Hermann  is 
about  five  feet  nine,  well-built,  florid,  blonde,  and  Ger- 
man in  appearance.  His  blue-gray  eyes  seem  honest,  but 
they  have  a  restless,  dissatisfied  look,  as  if  searching  for 
something  they  could  never  find.  He  is  apparently  about 
thirty-five,  has  unusual  vivacity  for  a  German,  and  his 
French  but  little  accent.  His  hands  are  white,  save  where 
they  bear  the  stains  of  acids  and  chemicals,  and  have  that 
quick,  delicate  dexterity  of  movement  that  constant  labor- 
atory manipulation  gives. 

He  would  seem  happy  and  contented  but  for  a  slight 
look  of  anxiety  on  his  face  and  the  seeking  glance  in  his 
eyes  that,  at  times,  becomes  intense  almost  to  the  point 
of  wildness.  Maurice  also  once  catches  a  peculiar  ner- 
vous twitching  of  the  lower  lip  as  the  German  passes  the 
open  fire-place,  and  rather  guesses  it  is  caused  by  some 
association  brought  to  his  mind  by  the  three  faded  white 
rose-buds. 

The  eggs  have  hardly  begun  to  boil 

-^^^.^ 
0?   THE         ^ 


48  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

turns  to  his  guest  and  says  :  "  Monsieur  de  Verney,  you 
were  kind  enough  to  give  me  your  name  and  card  last 
night ;  will  you  now  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  why  you 
have  taken  the  trouble  to  visit  me  ? " 

"  Certainly.  For  two  reasons.  First,  I  wished  to  find 
out  whether  you  felt  any  bad  effects  from  the  attack 
those  garroters  made  on  you  last  night  ?  " 

u  Oh,  a  little  stiff  in  the  back,  perhaps,  and  one  of  my 
wrists  slightly  sprained — and  your  second  reason  ?  " 

"  Was  this  !  "  And  Maurice  hands  to  the  German  the 
little  packet  of  cipher  letters. 

"  Ah  !  you  found  them  !  "  This  would  be  a  cry  of 
excited  joy,  were  it  not  forced  down  by  a  strong  will. 

"  Yes.  Just  as  I  left  you  last  night  I  picked  them  up. 
I  should  have  handed  them  to  you  then,  but  you  had 
already  closed  your  door.  So  I  thought  I'd  step  round 
this  morning  and  see  if  they  were  not  yours." 

"  They  are  mine,  and  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you," 
says  Hermann  rapidly,  "  very  much  obliged  to  you — you 
have — they  are  from  my  sister — and  I  value  them.  You 
Frenchmen  only  keep  your  sweethearts'  letters  ;  we  Ger- 
mans those  of  our  sisters  also." 

"  Ah  !  then  your  sister  is  not  here  ?  " 

"  No,  she  was  here  when  she  wrote  these  letters.  At 
present  she  is  away — I — expect  to  see  her  in  a  week — or 
two. "  This  last  is  said  in  some  hesitation.  "  You  will 
excuse  me  making  a  quick  meal,  I  must  go  out  again," 
the  young  man  continues,  placing  his  breakfast,  that  is 
now  ready,  upon  the  table  before  him,  and  falling  upon 
it  as  if  time  was  now  very  precious,  though  he  had  been 
in  no  hurry  before  he  regained  the  letters. 

Noting  this,  Maurice  thinks  it  best  to  let  him  go  out, 
and  then  see  what  his  actions  are. 

He  rises  and  remarks,  "  Now  that  I  have  fulfilled  my 
errand,  I  must  also  attend  to  my  duties  of  the  day.  Good- 
by  !" 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  49 

"  Good-by,  my  friend  !  "  cries  Hermann  cordially.  "  I 
am  again  obliged  to  you  ;  you  have  permitted  me  to  use 
my  tongue  that  has  been  nearly  silent  since  I  left  Berlin." 

"  You  must  have  been  in  Paris  before  ;  you  speak 
French  very  well  !  " 

"  Ah  !  you  flatter,  but  my  father  was  French — my 
mother  German  ;  my  name  shows  that:  Hermann  Margo." 

"  Then  it  is  curious  that  you  have  no  friends  in  Paris  !  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  have  never  lived  here  !  I  came  on  sud- 
denly from  Berlin,  I — permit  me  to  be  confidential — I  am 
employed  on  a  certain  chemical  discovery.  Sugar,  starch 
and  flour  are  simply  charcoal  and  water  in  slightly  vary- 
ing proportions.  Thus,  sugar  is  CI2  Htl  OIZ"  (using  the 
old  notation  common  to  that  day);  "that  is,  in  twenty- 
three  pounds  of  sugar  there  are  twelve  pounds  of  char- 
coal, eleven  of  water,  and  nothing  else.  From  twenty-three 
pounds  of  lump  sugar  I  can  make  twelve  pounds  of 
charcoal  and  eleven  of  water.  That  is  easy — but  the 
reverse  ?  Ah  !  that  is  another  question.  That  is  what  I 
am  trying  to  discover  ;  that  is  what  I  have  nearly  found — 
to  make  charcoal  and  water  into  sugar,  starch  and  flour. 
There  will  be  plenty  of  money  in  that  !  Eh  ? — Four  days 
ago  I  discovered  in  Berlin  that  a  friend  of  mine,  a  fellow 
chemist,  was  trying  to  spy  out  the  process  I  have  nearly 
completed.  My  best  security  was  in  flight ;  the  next  day  I 
was  here — safe  !  That  villain  shall  never  share  the  profits 
and  honor  of  my  discovery.  You  will  excuse  my  having 
said  so  much,  but  sometimes  my  invention  excites  me. 
Good-by  !  "  and  he  closes  his  door  on  Maurice,  leaving 
him  rather  astonished  in  the  hall.  The  man's  manner 
has  been  peculiar  and  nervous. 

Maurice  has  discovered  but  little  from  his  visit  to  No. 
55  Rue  de  Maubeuge,  he  meditates  as  he  goes  down 
the  stairs — only  that  Hermann  Margo  was  very  glad  to 
get  his  letters  back  again,  and  had  received  so  far  three 
white  rose-buds. 


50  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  is  joined  by  Marcillac,  who 
informs  him  that  Monsieur  Jolly,  who  has  followed  Her- 
mann home,  will  make  his  report  in  the  wine-shop  opposite. 

To  this  Maurice  crosses,  making  sure  that  Margo  does 
not  see  him,  and  there  encounters  the  detective  who  has 
dogged  Hermann's  morning  walk. 

Jolly's  words  are  few  and  to  the  point.  He  followed 
the  suspect  to  the  grand  boulevards— there  was  nothing 
unusual  in  his  manner — only  he  walked  about  twice  as 
fast  as  he  did  on  other  mornings — seemed  to  be  in  a 
great  hurry.  He  turned  into  the  Boulevard  Mont- 
martre,  went  straight  to  the  kiosk  opposite  the  Varie- 
tes,  and  bought  another  rose-bud—laid  down  his  money, 
and  with  it  a  letter  which  the  girl  put  away  on  the  little 
shelf  behind  her. 

"She  did  not  open  it  ?"  inquires  Maurice  hurriedly. 

"•No,  sir.     Put  it  away  quite  carelessly." 

"Very  well;  I'll  try  to  get  that  letter!"  remarks 
Maurice.  "You  stay  here  and  follow  Hermann " 

He  has  time  to  say  no  more,  for  Monsieur  Jolly,  with- 
out a  word,  strolls  out  of  the  wine-shop. 

Maurice  looks  after  him  almost  in  anger  at  his  abrupt- 
ness, then  gives  a  start.  The  man,  Hermann  Margo,  is 
striding  down  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge  at  the  top  of  his 
speed,  and  Monsieur  Jolly,  according  to  orders,  is  dodg- 
ing along  after  him.  A  moment  after,  Hermann  crosses 
the  street,  and  Maurice  gets  another  sensation.  The 
German  chemist  has  left  routine  behind  him,  and  is  now 
wearing  in  his  buttonhole  a  red  rose-bud. 

After  watching  Hermann  and  the  pursuing  Jolly  pass 
out  of  sight,  de  Verney,  leaving  Marcillac  still  on  watch 
at  55  Rue  de  Maubeuge,  walks  rapidly  home,  where  he 
expects  by  this  time  some  report  from  Regnier,  who  has 
been  on  observation  at  the  flower  kiosk. 

In  this  he  is  not  disappointed.  A  note  has  arrived 
from  that  officer  stating  the  following  facts  : 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  51 

First,  the  man  Hermann  left  a  letter  at  the  kiosk  at 
10:25,  and  immediately  went  away  without  taking  his 
usual  daily  promenade. 

This  is  no  more  than  Jolly  has  already  reported  ;  but 
this  additional  information  from  Monsieur  Regnier  is 
more  interesting  : 

The  letter  delivered  by  Hermann  was  in  a  yellow 
envelope.  He  (Regnier)  had  been  enabled  to  be  sure  of 
this,  for  the  girl  had  carelessly  placed  the  note  upon  a 
shelf  behind  her.  He  had  thought  of  trying  to  purloin 
this  letter,  and,  after  lounging  about  indolently  for  some 
time,  had  sauntered  up  to  the  kiosk  to  make  the  attempt 
or  further  observations,  as  most  judicious  ;  but  the  letter 
had  disappeared,  though  he  is  sure  that  no  one  bought 
flowers  there  during  the  intervening  time,  and  only  the 
proprietor  and  a  girl  of  sixteen  who  minds  the  stand  in 
his  absence  were  near  the  place.  The  proprietor's  name 
IF  Auguste  Lieber  ;  he  purchased  the  business  about  a 
month  ago,  together  with  the  gardens  and  green-houses 
near  Passy,  in  which  he  grows  most  of  the  flowers  he  sells. 
This  man  had  always  been  at  the  kiosk  when  the  German 
bought  his  boutonniere  before.  This  morning  Hermann, 
apparently  in  a  great  hurry,  is  half  an  hour  before  his 
usual  time,  and  Lieber  not  present.  The  rose-bud  he 
bought  was  a  red  one.  On  receiving  it,  he  looked  troubled 
and  immediately  retraced  his  steps,  instead  of.  taking  his 
daily  promenade  on  the  boulevards. 

"  This,  of  course,  accounts  for  Hermann's  unusually 
quick  return  to  his  lodgings,  which  nearly  disclosed  me 
to  him  in  his  apartments,"  meditates  de  Verney. 

All  thought  on  this  subject  is  here  knocked  out  of 
his  head  by  young  Microbe,  who  makes  an  unexpected 
appearance. 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me,"  says  that  volatile 
young  gentleman.  "  Only  thought  I'd  do  what  you  told 
me  ?  In  that  you  wrong  me  !  Monsieur  de  Verney,  you 


IJ2  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

have  honored  me  with  your  confidence  in  contrast  to 
the  detective  machines  you  have  made  do  machine  duty 
looking  after  that  man  Hermann  and  his  gang.  I 
wish  to  do  more  than  your  simple  instructions  call  for. 
The  plot  we  arranged  between  us  cannot  be  carried  out 
till  three  or  four  this  afternoon,  therefore  I've  had  some 
extra  time  on  my  hands,  and  have  used  it  upon  this 
investigation.  This  information  may  be  of  some  use  to 
you.  I  wrote  it  down,  fearing  you  might  not  be  here." 
He  hands  him  a  paper,  and  Maurice  reads  this  model 
of  laconic  brevity  and  accurate  statement : 

"  The  girl  Louise  was  never  known  as  a  flower-seller  till  about  a 
month  ago.  Discovered  this  by  general  conversation  at  cafes,  wine- 
shops, etc. 

"  Louise  lives  on  the  Rue  des  Vignes,  near  the  Rue  de  Passy. 
House  and  garden  have  no  number.  Her  full  name  is  Louise 
M.  Tourney.  Learned  this  from  Achille  Pomard,  a  barber,  who 
resides  near  her  and  tried  to  flirt  with  her,  but  was  frightened  off 
by  the  severeness  of  her  manner  and  savage  glances  of  her  eyes. 

"  The  Prince,  although  it  is  not  his  regular  day,  visits  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  this  afternoon.  Dropped  on  this  by  pumping  groom  in 
imperial  stables,  who  states  that  his  barouche  is  ordered  for  2  P.M. 
Consequently  the  Prince  has  some  companion  other  than  his  tutor  ; 
when  there  are  only  two,  they  go  in  a  victoria  or  cabriolet. 

"  RAVEL  MICROBE." 

"  Have  you  any  further  information  ? "  asks  Maurice, 
after  perusing  the  above. 

"  Yes  !  As  I  returned  here  along  the  Boulevard  des 
Italiens,  I  passed  Monsieur  Jolly.  He  was  following  a  man 
I  presume  to  be  the  Hermann  of  our  investigation.  This 
man  wore  a  red  rose-bud.  Second.  As  I  passed  by  the 
flower  kiosk  opposite  the  Varietes,  I  encountered  Mon- 
sieur Regnier  on  watch,  who  gave  me  this  note  for  you." 

He  hands  Maurice  a  scrap  of  paper  which  reads : 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  53 

"  The  man  Hermann  came  back  hurriedly  at  ten  minutes  past 
eleven.  He  went  to  the  kiosk  again,  said  something  to  the  girl,  the 
proprietor  having  for  some  reason  again  left  the  shop.  She  shook 
her  head  at  him.  Then  he  gave  her  another  letter,  yellow  envelope, 
and  began  his  usual  daily  promenade  of  the  boulevards.  I  can  see 
Monseiur  Jolly,  as  I  write,  walking  after  him. 

"  REGNIER." 

These  actions  of  the  German  are  susceptible  of  but  one 
interpretation  by  de  Verney.  Hermann,  having  lost  his 
cipher  letters,  could  no  longer  read  any  additional  instruc- 
tions ;  consequently  left  a  note  (stating  his  loss)  for  some 
one  who  could  reproduce  or  replace  these  letters.  Then, 
having  no  means  of  reading  anything  given  to  him,  omitted 
his  promenade.  Having  recovered  these  cipher  letters 
again,  he  has,  as  soon  as  possible,  tried  to  get  back  his  first 
letter  ;  and  failing  in  that,  has  left  another  notifying  the 
person  to  whom  he  sent  his  first  that  he  has  recovered 
the  necessary  documents.  Next,  having  regained  his 
means  of  reading,  he  is  taking  his  promenade,  hoping  to 
receive  additional  instructions. 

Further  reflections  are  cut  short  by  young  Microbe's 
remarking  :  "  If  you  wish  me  to  perform  my  part  in  your 
drama,  I  have  hardly  time  to  make  up  and  get  on  the 
scene.  Prompter's  bell  is  ringing  orchestra  in,  curtain 
will  soon  go  up.  It  is  now  after  one  o'clock." 

To  this  Maurice  promptly  replies,  "  Then  get  to  your 
dressing-room  !  " 

Microbe  moves  to  the  door.  Here  he  turns  and  says, 
"I  am  to  insult  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !  " 

"  I  am  to  kiss  her  !  Perhaps  Louise  will  not  consider 
that  an  insult  ?"  returns  the  dandy  detective,  with  a  self- 
approving  grin. 

"You  are  only  to  pretend  to  kiss  her,"  says  Maurice 
suddenly  and  perhaps  sternly.  For  this  jumping-jack-of- 
the-boulevards'  grimaces  annoy  him — the  affair  is  so 
serious. 


54  THAT    FRENCHMAN  J 

"  Ah  !  only  to  pretend  to  kiss  her.  What  a  cruel  dis- 
appointment for  a  young  girl  !  What  a  wound  to  her  van- 
ity !  I  look  very  handsome  in  my  Mabille  suit.  Louise  will 
certainly  consider  that  an  awful  insult.  Your  game  is 
sure,  Monsieur  de  Verney.  She  will  love  you  when  you 
beat  me."  And  Microbe's  laugh  can  be  heard  as  he  skips 
down  the  stairs. 

Maurice  laughs  also,  but  in  a  less  hearty  tone,  at  this 
conceit  of  his  assistant.  Then  he  mutters,  "  I  must  leave 
this  Hermann  matter  to  *  Regnier,  Jolly  &  Co.'  till 
to-night.  I  wonder  if  I  can  win  this  game  by  hearts. 
I'll  have  to  play  my  cards  quickly,  whatever  they  are." 
With  this  he  steps  into  his  chamber,  rings  and  orders  his 
phaeton  at  the  door  in  half  an  hour  ;  then  proceeds  to 
achieve  one  of  those  tremendous  toilets  the  beaus  of  the 
boulevards  in  those  days  were  guilty  of. 

Looking  at  himself  in  the  glass,  he  wonders  if  he  has 
not  a  little  overdone  his  work.  "All  the  same,"  he 
remarks,  "  I  look  useless  enough  to  please  most  women. 
I  wonder  if  I  shall  be  attractive  enough  to  conquer  this 
one.  According  to  Microbe,  she  does  not  look  with  favor 
on  petites  crevtfs.  Will  a  swell  a  la  Rue  St.  Honore  please 
mademoiselle  better5 " 

A  moment  after,  his  equipage  is  announced  by  Fran- 
cois. He  steps  down  into  the  quiet  Rue  d'Hautville 
where  it  is  waiting  for  him. 

Perfect  in  the  style  of  that  time,  it  would  nearly 
resemble  a  mail  phaeton  of  to-day.  It  is  drawn  by  a 
dashing  pair  of  chestnuts,  a  little  too  spirited,  perhaps, 
for  any  but  a  first-rate  whip  to  drive,  but  a  perfect 
match  as  to  color,  style,  action  and  speed.  He  steps  in, 
the  tiny  groom  leaves  the  heads  of  the  horses  and  takes  a 
flying  leap  to  his  rumble  behind,  and  Maurice  de  Verney 
that  bright  spring  day  drives,  almost  laughingly,  away  to 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne  to  meet — HIS  MEPHISTOPHELES  IN 
PETTICOATS. 


CHAPTER   V. 

HIDE    AND    SEEK. 

MAURICE'S  chestnuts  bowl  him  along  the  main  boule- 
vards. Here  the  tremendous  traffic  of  the  great  city 
keeps  him  engaged  in  guiding  his  team  through  the  mass 
of  vehicles  and  pedestrians  with  which  the  streets  are 
crowded. 

In  the  Montmartre  he  manages,  however,  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Monsieur  Regnier,  and  sees  that  faithful 
officer  at  his  post  near  the  flower  kiosk.  Of  Hermann 
and  his  shadowing  Jolly  he  sees  nothing,  and  so,  after 
passing  through  the  Rue  Royale,  comes  to  the  Champs 
Elysees,  that  long  avenue  of  matchless  pavement,  bright- 
ened by  green  trees  and  beautiful  parterres  of  flowers, 
which  begins  gloriously  at  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  and 
ends  triumphantly  at  the  Arc  de  Triomphe. 

From  this  can  be  seen  many  of  the  new  boulevards  and 
avenues,  outlined  by  those  magnificent  detached  hotels  of 
that  young  quarter  of  the  city,  exemplifying  the  fresh  life 
and  beauty  of  the  new  Paris  just  made  from  the  ugly  old 
town  of  monarchical  France,  whose  narrow  and  winding 
streets  have  become  broad  and  straight  boulevards,  whose 
foul-smelling  gutters  have  been  replaced  by  under-ground 
sewerage,  and  whose  mediaeval  filth,  discomfort  and  plague 
have  been  changed  to  modern  cleanliness,  convenience 
and  health.  For  Baron  Haussmann  has  just  waved  that 
modern  magician's  wand,  capital  and  labor,  and  trans- 
formed the  most  unsightly,  pestilentious,  and  disreputa- 
ble town  of  the  old  regime  into  the  most  beautiful,  airy, 


56  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

and  comfortable  city  of  the  modern  world — the  Paris 
that  men  travel  half  round  the  earth  to  see,  that  women 
dream  about,  and  angels  sigh  over  ! 

The  scene  before  him  is  bright  with  the  glory  of  a 
Paris  April  sun.  The  Champs  Elysees  is  that  of  1868 — 
the  foot-paths  are  crowded  with  workingmen  and  naughty 
grisettes,  who  sometimes  look  enviously  at  the  crowded 
drive,  made  more  naughty  by  Mesdemoiselles  Seraphin  de 
Jockey  Club,  of  the  Rue  de  Helder,  and  Cora  Rubie,  of 
the  Quartier  Breda,  whose  turn-outs,  in  grooms,  liveries, 
and  horse-flesh,  put  to  shame  Madame  la  Marechale 
Sebastopol's,  of  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  and  La  Princesse  de 
Fleur-de-lis,  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 

All  this  gay,  happy,  noisy,  and  very  Frenchy  scene  is 
unnoticed  by  de  Verney,  he  is  so  engrossed  by  his 
thoughts. 

He  swings  his  team  into  the  Avenue  de  1'Imperatrice, 
now  called  that  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  passing  a  vic- 
toria which  contains  two  ladies. 

One  of  them  suddenly  says  :  "  Who  is  she  ?  " 

The  other  replies  :  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  woman  that  occupies  Le  Chevalier  *de  Ver- 
ney's  brain  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else  this  after- 
noon. He  did  not  return  my  bow  !  "  mutters  La  Com- 
tesse  de  Merrincourt  with  a  little  moue. 

"Oh,  Maurice  has  ambitions,"  laughs  her  friend  La 
Baronne  de  Brissac. 

"  All  the  same,  he  is  very  handsome,  and  I  hope  he'll 
come  to  Madame  de  Cavagnac's  soiree  this  evening.  I 
am  going  to  appear  in  her  tableaux.  I  shall  be  Venus  in 
the  *  Judgment  of  Paris  !  '  and  I  think  I  could  drive 
ambition  out  of  his  handsome  head  !  " 

"  Ah  !  I  presume  your  costume  will  be  nothing,  if  not 
enchanting  !  "  giggles  Madame  la  Baronne. 

"  It  will  be  both ! "  returns  Sophie  de  Merrincourt, 
proudly,  for  she  is  one  of  the  great  beauties  of  the  day. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  57 

Then,  after  a  pause,  she  mutters,  "  If  he  were  only  Paris  ; 
he  would  be  almost  as  beautiful  as  the  masked  wrestler." 

"  Oh  !  L'homme  masque.      Is  he  not  magnificent  ?  " 

"  What  limbs  !     What  physique  !  "  cries  the  other. 

"  Ah  !  you  too  admire  that  sybarite  of  the  arena  !  " 

"  Enough  to  give  my  head  to  know  who  he  is  !  " 

And  the  two  ladies  pass  on  their  way,  wildly  discussing 
the  most  unique  sensation  of  that  ephemeral  epoch. 

Maurice  by  this  time  has  reached  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
The  Park  is  beautiful  this  day,  with  green  trees  and  grasses, 
and  wild-flowers  just  beginning  to  bloom.  The  crowd 
here  is  not  so  great,  as  Le  Chevalier,  entering  at  the  Porte 
Dauphin,  leaves  the  popular  drive  to  the  Lakes  to  his 
left,  and  makes  straight  for  the  entrance  to  the  Jardin 
d'Acclimatation,  near  the  Sablons  gate. 

Here  he  finds  the  crowd  greater  again,  and  more  juve- 
nile. Boy  and  girl  aristocrats  are  being  deposited  from 
their  equipages  ;  boy  and  girl  bourgeois  are  coming  on  foot 
from  the  railway  station  at  Maillot  and  the  horse-cars  ;  or 
more  directly  by  omnibuses,  to  see  the  animals  of  this 
French  Zoo. 

They  make  the  scene  wonderfully  bright  and  brilliant. 
Silks  and  laces  are  on  the  girls  ;  velvets  and  laces  on  the 
boys — for  they  are  French  children  and  don't  spoil  their 
clothes  like  English  ones  ;  and,  in  their  play,  don't  make 
one-half  the  noise  of  Anglo-Saxon  childhood  ;  though 
they  make  up  for  lost  time  when  they  grow  older. 

As  Maurice  alights  and  gazes  at  this,  he  sees,  at  the 
entrance  of  the  garden,  a  Parisian  workman,  trying  to  ap- 
pear interested  in  the  gambols  of  some  children  near 
him,  but  still  with  his  eyes  upon  everything  passing  in  or 
out.  The  fellow  gives  him  a  knowing  glance,  and  he 
recognizes  him  as  one  of  the  detective  officers  he  has 
placed  on  guard  over  the  safety  of  the  prince. 

So  far  his  orders  have  been  obeyed.  He  will  see  if 
the  others  are  equally  alert.  He  hastily  forces  his  way 


jg  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

through  the  crowd  to  all  the  entrances  of  the  garden.  At 
each  of  them,  in  some  guise  familiar  to  the  Parisians  of 
that  day,  is  one  of  his  emissaries  on  watch.  To  do  this 
he  is  compelled  to  go  nearly  to  the  Porte  de  Neuilly. 
Consequently,  before  he  returns  to  the  main  entrance  he 
has  disposed  of  about  fifteen  minutes.  It  is  now  two 
o'clock,  and  as  yet  he  has  not  placed  his  eyes  upon  the 
young  lady  he  is  so  anxious  to  see. 

He  hardly  thinks  she  has  yet  arrived,  it  is  so  early.  If 
she  comes  from  Passy,  she  will  undoubtedly  pass  in  by 
the  main  entrance,  so  he  posts  himself  near  it  and  looks 
for  his  fair  conspirator — for  he  has  now  come  to  regard 
the  flower-girl  of  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation  in  that 
light. 

Absorbed  with  this  matter,  his  eyes  note  only  females, 
till  suddenly  he  hears :  "  By  Jove  !  you're  on  hand  also, 
Maurice — looking  very  hard  for  her  ?  Eh,  old  fellow  ? " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  de  Frontinac  ? "  says  the  chevalier, 
bowing  to  a  couple  of  young  men  who,  dressed  in  the 
extreme  of  fashion,  are  just  coming  from  the  Porte  de 
Sablons  and  crossing  the  little  bridge  over  the  brook 
that,  further  in  the  garden,  makes  the  pond  in  which  the 
ducks  and  swans  play — also,  the  children,  when  the  gen- 
darmes don't  see  them.  One  of  them  has  spoken  to  him. 

"  Oh  !  that  you've  scented  the  perfume  of  la  belle 
Louise's  flowers  !  "  laughs  de  Frontinac.  "  We're  on  the 
same  errand.  But  permit  me  to  present  Monsieur  Hig- 
gins.  You  may  have  met  him  in  Mexico.  He  comes 
from  across  the  Atlantic.  Le  Chevalier  de  Verney, 
Monsieur  Higgins." 

"You've  got  rather  good  eyes  if  you've  seen  me  in 
Mexico,"  remarks  Higgins,  who  would  be  a  representa- 
tive Yankee,  had  he  not  been  washed  out  and  partially 
obliterated  by  absinthe  during  the  few  months  he  has  been 
in  Paris.  "  I've  never  been  nearer  to  that  country  than 
Boston  Common.  I've  only  seen  Mexico  from  Harvard 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  59 

observatory.  It's  about  three  thousand  miles,  I  believe  ; 
but  our  telescopes  beat  the  world.  George  !  I  wish  I 
had  one  now. " 

Here  the  gentleman  stops  to  rub  his  eye-glasses,  as  a 
very  pretty  woman  has  just  passed  him. 

"  De  Frontinac's  knowledge  of  geography  is  small," 
remarks  Maurice  sarcastically.  "  He  hasn't  had  the 
advantages  of  your  common-school  system,  Monsieur 
Higgins." 

"  Louise  is  not  here,"  interrupts  the  American,  who  has 
been  persistently  and  carefully  gazing  into  the  garden 
during  this  conversation. 

"  Oh  !  She'll  turn  up  soon — she's  certain  to  come,  for 
the  day  is  so  fine  the  Prince  Imperial  is  sure  to  be  on 
hand  and  give  her  a  louts  for  a  rose. " 

"  Yes,  and  precious  little  chance  we  have  when  royalty's 
around.  I  believe  the  *  hope  of  France '  is  mashed  on 
her,"  murmurs  Higgins.  "  Let's  go  to  the  Kiosques  des 
Concerts — I  hear  the  band  playing  now — she'll  probably 
be  there  !  " 

"  Come  on,  Maurice,"  cries  de  Frontinac,  and  the 
three  young  men  stroll  into  the  beautiful  grounds. 
Crossing  another  rustic  bridge  over  the  little  stream, 
filled  with  aquatic  plants,  unheeding  the  jabber  of  the 
monkeys,  they  turn  away  to  their  left  and  make  for  the 
music  of  the  band. 

"  Hold  up  a  minute,"  cries  de  Frontinac  to  Maurice. 
"  You  walk  too  fast  for  me  to  ask  questions.  When  does 
the  masked  wrestler  make  his  next  appearance  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  says  de  Verney,  suddenly 
stopping,  chewing  his  mustache,  and  gazing  his  friend  in 
the  eye. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be  huffy  about  the  question,  old 
fellow,"  mutters  the  other  ;  "  I  asked  you  once  the  same 
thing,  and  you  struck  it  to  the  very  day  :  February  i5th. 
I  can  show  you  the  posters  for  it." 


60  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"One  fortunate  guess  does  not  make  me  a  fortune- 
teller," laughs  de  Verney.  "  Why  did  you  want  to 
know  ? " 

"  It's  on  my  account,"  remarks  Higgins.  "  There  are 
some  girls  from  New  York  whose  mother  has  said  No, 
with  a  very  big  N,  to  Le  Mabille  j  and  we've  .compro- 
mised on -the  masked  wrestler.  They've  put  off  a  trip  to 
Italy  on  account  of  him.  They're  too  pretty  to  disap- 
point. It's  such  an  awful  rush  for  tickets,  so,  if  you 
could  give  us  a  hint,  we  might  be  ahead  of  time.  Those 
girls  are  simply  crazy  to  go— I've  told  'em  he's  the  great- 
est physical  sight  on  earth." 

"  Of  course  he  is  !  You  don't  have  any  such  artists  de 
force  in  America,"  says  de  Frontinac,  bubbling  over  with 
French  pride. 

«  No— a — not  at  present.  We've  a  baseball  club  and 
one  or  twro  prize-fighters — nothing  to  brag  of.  You  see, 
we're  too  intellectual ;  we  develop  the  mind  in  Boston  at 
the  expense  of  the  muscfe.  We'll  never  get  there  !  "  says 
this  young  New-Englander  of  1868  quite  sadly  ;  for,  not 
being  a  prophet,  he  cannot  see  the  crown  of  glory  the 
mighty  Sullivan  of  later  days  is  to  bring  to  his  beloved 
modern  Athens.  After  a  moment's  philosophical  and 
meditative  unhappiness  at  the  idea,  he  brightens  up, 
however,  and  mutters  half  dreamily,  "  I  wonder  who  the 
masked  wrestler  is,  anyway  ? " 

"  That's  what  all  Paris  has  guessed  and  still  guesses," 
interjects  de  Frontinac.  "  Half  the  belles  of  the  Rue 
St.  Honore  and  the  Tuileries  would  give  everything  but 
their  beauty  for  his  address  to  send  him  a  billet-doux" 

"  But  they  can't  find  it,"  mutters  Maurice  under  his 
breath.  Then  he  pauses-  suddenly  and  says,  "  Ah  !  ah  !  " 
for  he  is  looking  at  the  most  beautiful  thing  he  has  yet 
seen  in  the  world. 

"  By  Jove  !  .  There  she  is  !  Look  at  her  hair  !  "  mur- 
murs Higgins. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  6l 

"  Louise !  more  stunning  than  ever  !  "  echoes  de  Fron- 
tinac.  "  Come  and  buy  a  flower  from  her,  Maurice.  For 
that,  you  only  need  the  introduction  a  five-franc  piece 
will  give  you." 

Then  the  two  young  men  hurry  on,  and  elbow  their 
way  through  the  .press,  for  there  is  always  a  little  crowd 
about  her,  buying  posies  from  her  fair  hands,  and  trying 
by  double  prices  to  purchase  from  her  lips  kindly  words 
or  her  eyes  sweet  glances — boys  as  well  as  men — but  no 
girls  nor  women.  She  seems  a  loadstone  for  everything 
masculine — perhaps  to  repel,  certainly  not  to  attract, 
everything  feminine. 

As  for  de  Verney,  he  simply  stands  and  gazes  at  her  for 
a  minute  or  so,  though  his  mind  notes  these  facts.  Then 
he  looks  for  a  hundred  seconds  or  so  more,  and  thinks 
very  hard  ;  next,  as  if  it  were  a  difficult  task  to  tear  him- 
self away  from  what- he  sees,  resolutely  turns  his  back 
upon  Louise,  the  flower-girl  of  the  Jardin  d'Acclimata- 
tion,  strides  rapidly  to  the  gate,  'calls  his  phaeton,  gives 
his  horses  their  heads,  and  flies  home  as- fast  as  they  can 
draw  him,  scarcely  noticing  the  Prince  Imperial  as  he 
passes  him  in  the  Champs  Elysees  driving  for  the  Bois, 
and  followed  at  a  little  distance  by  young  Microbe  and 
another  officier  de  stirete,  who  are  taking  good  care  of 
that  royal  youth  this  afternoon.  Arriving  at  the  Rue 
d'Hautville,  Maurice  bolts  up  to  his  apartments  and 
then,  as  rapidly  as  possible,  makes  an  entirely  new  toilet, 
coming  down-stairs  again  in  modest  dark  clothes  that 
show  his  graceful  athletic  figure  to  superb  advantage,  and 
give  him  the  appearance  of  being  perfectly  unpretentious, 
though  elegant  and  gentlemanly  to  the  tips  of  his  nails. 

He  is  no  longer  the  beau  of  the  boulevards  ;  for,  in 
the  three  minutes  he  has  looked  at  Louise  the  flower- 
girl,  he  has  made  up  his  mind  that  no  beau  of  the  boule- 
vards will  ever  charm  the  intellect,  or  win  the  admiration 
or  love  of  such  a  woman. 


62  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

For  this  is  the  picture  he  saw,  and  that  which  is  still 
in  his  head,  as  he  drives  rapidly  back,  anxious  to  see  it 
again: 

A  girl's  face,  perhaps  sixteen,  perhaps  eighteen,  per- 
haps twenty.  Its  eyes  so  dark  they  would  be  gloomy 
were  they  not  full  of  an  enthusiasm  which  makes  them 
beam,  and  an  excitement  that  makes  them  flash  with  a 
fire  perhaps  as  holy  as  that  of  a  Roman  vestal,  perchance 
as  cruel  as  that  of  some  priestess  of  the  Indian  Goddess 
of  Death. — Which  ?  Maurice  cannot  as  yet  determine  ; 
he  only  knows  that  it  is  beautiful.  Its  brow  would  be 
classic  as  that  of  a  Greek  statue,  had  it  not  more  intellect 
than  ancient  art  usually  gave  to  woman.  Its  mouth  is  also 
contradictory,  the  lower  lip  indicating  passion,  the  upper 
one  the  firmness  to  repress  it;  the  cheeks  modestly  blush- 
ing, the  nose  haughty.  A  mass  of  contradictions — the 
whole  bewilderingly  beautiful  ! 

Is  it  a  good  face  or  a  bad  one  ?  On  this  de  Verney 
meditates.  "  Her  hair  is  blonde,"  he  finally  mutters  to 
himself  ;  "  Heaven  grant  it  may  be  dyed  in  the  fashion  of 
this  day's  craze  for  yellow  hair,  for,  if  it  is  natural — 
WHEUGH  !  " 

Here  he  gives  a  long  whistle,  then  continues  :  "  '  Beware 
of  serpents  and  natural  blondes  whose  eyes  have  sparks 
in  them  ! '  Will  her  beauty  make  me  forget  this  maxim  ?  " 

Then  he  gives  a  little  laugh,  which  changes  into  a 
start,  and  suddenly  mutters,  "  A  WOMAN  LIKE  THE  ONE 

I'VE    SEEN    HAS    THE    RESOLUTION    TO    KILL    THE    PRINCE 

WITH  HER  OWN  HAND,"  and  drives  faster  than  ever. 

After  a  little  consideration,  however,  he  casts  away 
any  idea  of  immediate  danger  to  his  charge  ;  the  plot, 
whatever  it  be,  is  evidently  not  yet  ripe  for  action. 

He  now  gives  a  glance  at  his  surroundings.  He  has 
come  back  at  a  speed  that  has  been  horrifying  to  the 
sergents  de  ville  passed  on  his  way.  He  has  been  once 
warned  on  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  twice  cautioned  on 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  63 

the  Avenue  de  1'Imperatrice,  and,  had  he  not  been  very 
well  known,  would  doubtless  have  been  arrested  ;  for  he 
has  paid  no  attention  to  the  polite  remonstrances  of  these 
guardians  of  the  peace. 

Such  has  been  his  speed  that  he  has  made  his  trip  to 
the  Rue  d'Hautville  and  back,  together  with  change  of 
raiment,  in  an  hour  and  a  half.  He  drives  into  the 
crowd  at  the  entrance  of  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation, 
saluting  Le  deux  Aquardo,  and,  returning  the  kindly  bow 
of  Rossini  (who  is  now  enjoying  the  last  songs  of  the 
spring  birds  that  master  of  melody  shall  hear  on  earth), 
looks  at  his  watch,  and  is  relieved  to  see  that  it  indicates 
only  twenty-five  minutes  to  four. 

The  throng  is  much  greater  than  when  he  left.  There 
are  many  more  ladies,  who  have  driven  out  in  state  to  see 
their  children  enjoy  the  fluttering  of  the  pigeons  in  their 
dove-cot,  ride  in  the  carriages  drawn  by  ostriches, 
or  laugh  at  the  grotesque  comedie  humaine  the  mon- 
keys and  apes  go  through  ad  nauseam  in  their  commo- 
dious quarters.  Four  in  five  of  these  ladies  of  fashion 
have  yellow  heads,  following  the  craze  introduced  by 
the  cocottes  of  Quartier  Breda  ;  all  of  whom  are  at  this 
time  blondes,  natural  or  unnatural.  Most  of  them 
have  discarded  crinoline  for  the  pannier  costumes  that 
Monsieur  Worth  has  just  introduced  to  delight  women 
and  astonish  mankind.  As  was  the  custom  of  that 
day,  most  of  these  are  of  flashing  Bismarck  browns, 
Solferino  reds,  or  Pompadour  greens,  that  charm  the 
paraquets  of  the  garden  who  imagine  other  birds  of 
brilliant  plumage  have  come  to  visit  them,  and  chatter 
at  their  gorgeous  guests,  as  if  expecting  reply. 

Passing  through  this  brilliant  crowd,  and  only  returning 
the  bow  Madame  de  Pourtales  makes  him  and  the  smile 
and  word  that  the  beautiful  Mademoiselle  de  Walewska 
gives  him,  Maurice  makes  straight  for  the  sound  of  the 
band  that  is  playing  La  Mandolinata,  which  is  just 


64  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

becoming  the  popular  tune  of  the  day — for  he  imagines 
there  will  be  the  Prince  and  there  the  flower-girl.  But 
neither  Prince  nor  flower-girl  is  there. 

In  looking  about  for  them,  he  passes  one  of  the  en- 
trances to  the  garden  and  notes  that  the  officer  on  guard 
there  has  disappeared.  A  hasty  examination  of  the  other 
gates  shows  that  this  is  the  case  at  all  of  them.  It  flashes 
across  Maurice  that  there  is  a  reason  for  this.  The 
Prince  has  left  the  garden  and  the  officers,  to  better 
watch  over  him,  have  followed !  Where  have  they 
gone? 

This  question  is  soon  answered  by  young  Microbe. 
This  worthy  is  now  dressed  as  only  a  petite  creve,  pure, 
simple,  and  unredeemed,  can  be.  He  has  lavender 
trousers  that  fit  him  like  gloves,  save  upon  the  boots, 
over  which  they  are  spread  out  with  the  amplitude  a 
Spanish  vaquero  gives  to  his  leather  leggins,  only  show- 
ing the  tips  of  the  toes  of  his  little  patent  leathers.  A 
very  low-cut  vest  of  embossed  velvet  exhibits  an  immen- 
sity of  white  shirt-bosom,  with  a  small  ruffle  and  large 
diamond  of  pasty  splendor.  This  shirt  is  of  the  decollete 
description,  and  with  its  low-rolling,  turned-down  collar 
and  loosely  tied  crimson  cravat  displays  as  much  of  bare 
neck  as  many  modest  women  do  in  evening  dress.  This 
neck  is  by  no  means  handsome,  being  yellow  and  skinny, 
but  Microbe  seems  to  be  rather  proud  of  it.  A  bur- 
nished stove-pipe  hat  and  rather  sloppy-looking  frock- 
coat,  together  with  a  pair  of  lilac  gloves  which  emit  the 
odor  of  benzine,  showing  them  to  have  been  hastily 
cleaned,  together  with  some  finger-rings  he  wears  as 
adornments  to  a  very  brazen-looking  watch-chain,  com- 
plete his  elegant  appearance. 

He  leaves  two  ladies  of  very  dashing  style  and  brill- 
iant toilet,  and  strolls  past  Maurice,  giving  him  a  wink. 
Then  he  wanders  to  a  quiet  nook  behind  the  monkey- 
house,  where  de  Verney  joins  him. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  65 

Microbe  comes  to  business  at  once.  He  says  :  "  I 
beckoned  you  here  to  take  no  chances  of  Louise  seeing 
us  together." 

"  Where  is  she  ? "  whispers  Maurice  eagerly. 

"  The  Prince  and  his  party — he  has  two  other  boys, 
besides  his  tutor,  with  him — have  gone  to  play  just  outside 
the  garden  in  the  Bois,  near  the  road  to  the  Madrid. 
He  insisted  on  Louise  accompanying  them.  She  is  giving 
them  prizes  of  flowers.  I  am  gradually  making  that 
young  lady  detest  me.  When  I  insult  her  and  you 
appear  to  beat  me,  she  will  hate  me  so  cordially  that 
she'll  love  you  for  it.  But  you  must  be  careful  and  not 
damage  my  clothes."  Here  he  looks  at  his  toilet,  and 
murmurs  approvingly  :  "I  am  with  ladies,  and  have  on 
my  Mabille  suit." 

"  Yes,  I've  noticed  that,"  remarks  Maurice  dryly. 

"  Those  girls  are  rather  nice,  aren't  they  ? "  says 
Microbe  enthusiastically.  "  That  stout  one  is  Theresa, 
who  is  singing  Paris  crazy  at  the  Alcazar." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  interrupts  de  Verney,  who  has  seen 
this  celebrity  a  dozen  times. 

"  And  the  other  is  Mademoiselle  Zara  de  Millepieds, 
the  great  successor  to  the  grand  Rigolboshe  at  the  Ma- 
bille. I  dance  a  cavalier  seul  in  the  same  quadrille 
with  her  next  Sunday  night.  Like  to  be  introduced  ? " 

"  Not  now,"  says  Maurice  sharply. 

"  No ;  of  course  not.  I'm  not  going  to  be  seen  with 
you  to-day,"  replies  Microbe  with  a  little  wink.  "  But  at 
the  Mabille  Sunday." 

He  has  no  time  to  say  more,  for  the  chevalier  cuts  in 
again  :  "  What  game  was  the  Prince  playing  with  his 
friends  for  which  Louise  gives  prizes  ?  " 

The  answer  startles  him  : 

"  Hide  and  seek  !  And  Louise  presents  flowers  to  the  one 
who  hides  the  longest !  " 

HlDE  AND  SEEK  !  THE  GAME   MENTIONED   IN   THE 


66  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

CIPHER.  WHAT  MIGHT  BE  DONE  TO  THE 
PRINCE  WHEN  CONCEALED  FROM  HIS  COM- 
PANIONS? 

As  this  thought  comes  to  de  Verney,  he  hurriedly  asks, 
"  Does  Louise  hide  with  them  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  she  remains  with  the  tutor  and  the  others. 
She  does  not  seem  interested  save  in  selling  flowers  to 
passers-by.  I've  bought  three  roses  already  and  made 
her  more  enraged  at  every  purchase." 

"  Where  are  the  officers  ?  " 

"  In  hiding,  about  the  thickets  near  the  Prince,  to  see 
that  no  one  but  his  playmates  approach  him." 

"  Very  well,"  says  Maurice,  "  you  will  not  forget  my 
instructions  for  this  afternoon,  Monsieur  Microbe." 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Now  I'll  go  and  see  what  I  can  make  out  of  this 
game  of  hide  and  seek,"  mutters  de  Verney,  and  he 
strides  toward  the  main  entrance  to  the  Jardin  d'Acclima- 
tation,  that  will  let  him  out  near  the  road  to  the  Madrid, 
at  this  time  one  of  the  popular  resorts  of  the  park. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    FATE    OF    THE    MABILLE    SUIT. 

TURNING  sharply  to  his  right  from  the  Jardin  d'Accli- 
matation,  Maurice  has  hardly  proceeded  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred yards  when  he  sees  the  imperial  liveries  upon  a 
carnage  drawn  up  alongside  the  road  to  the  Madrid. 
There  are  several  other  private  carriages  standing  near, 
the  occupants  of  them  having  stopped  to  look  at  the 
heir  of  France,  throwing  off  his  dignity  and  becoming  for 
a  short  happy  hour  or  two  only  a  boy. 

Quite  a  little  crowd  of  pedestrians  have  been  attracted 
to  the  place,  most  of  these  keeping  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance ;  though  a  few,  whose  positions,  titles,  or  intimacy 
at  court  have  given  them  a  personal  acquaintance  with 
the  Prince,  have  practically  joined  the  imperial  party. 

Among  these  Maurice  places  himself  ;  for  though  he 
does  not  wish  Louise  to  imagine  him  very  closely 
connected  with  the  governing  power  of  France,  still  he  is 
desperately  anxious  to  accurately  observe  both  the  bear- 
ing and  actions  of  the  flower-girl,  and  she  stands  very 
near  the  Prince  Imperial's  tutor,  who  is  watching  the 
game  in  a  short-sighted  and  perfunctory  manner  through 
a  pair  of  spectacles. 

The  Prince  and  his  companions  are  now  in  hiding,  one 
of  them,  his  particular  friend,  the  boy  Conneau,  is  the 
seeking  party,  and  is  wandering  through  the  thickets  and 
trees,  with  which  the  slightly  rising  ground  is  studded,  in 
pursuit  of  the  others.  The  prince  is  not  here  to  recognize 
him,  and  Maurice  can  now  make  his  observations  of 


68  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Louise  Tourney  without  her  learning  he   is  acquainted 
with  the  royal  prey  he  imagines  she  is  pursuing. 

He  strolls  through  the  group  and  leisurely  asks  her  for 
a  boutonniere.  She  gracefully  pins  it  in  his  coat,  but  as 
she  does  so,  a  pair  of  feverish  eyes  look  into  his  and 
stagger  him.  Eyes  that  have  not  the  hope  of  youth  nor 
the  calmness  of  age — only  the  anxiety  of  some  great  strain 
upon  the  mind,  something  that  keeps  her  nervous  system 
at  a  constant  unrelaxing  tension,  that  makes  it  like  the 
C-string  of  a  highly-tuned  violin-  a  breeze  blowing  against 
it,  it  will  cry  out ;  another  turn  of  the  key  and  it  will  snap 
asunder.  He  tries  to  think  where  he  has  seen  such  eyes 
before. 

She  says  "  Thank  you  ! "  for  his  five-franc  piece.  It  is 
the  first  time  he  has  heard  her  speak,  and  it  is  a  sensation. 

Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet,  but  how  determined. 
When  age  has  taken  away  its  sweetness,  it  may  be 
hard. 

He  steps  back  and  enters  into  conversation  with  the 
Prince's  tutor.  This  gentleman  knows  him  very  well  by 
sight,  and  is,  with  the  vanity  peculiar  to  weak  minds,  de- 
lighted to  be  addressed  by  so  distinguished  a  gentleman 
as  Monsieur  de  Verney. 

While  Maurice  is  talking  to  him,  and  judging  how 
much  aid  he  can  hope  for,  in  case  of  necessity,  from  the 
tutor,  his  eyes  are  following  the  flower-girl  as  she  trips 
from  one  person  to  another  disposing  of  her  pretty  wares, 
which  now  seem  to  be  nearly  exhausted. 

Her  dress  is  something  like  a  peasant's,  not  of  prim, 
staid  Normandy  nor  Brittany,,  he  is  glad  to  notice,  but  of 
some  more  southern  clime — perhaps  from  the  sunny 
slopes  of  the  Pyrenees.  The  whole  effect,  though  not 
rich,  is  very  graceful  and  softly  pretty,  and  the  dress  is 
some  light  cambric  that  becomes  the  girlish  figure  that -is 
hardly  as  yet  developed,  for  the  short  skirts  show  a  foot 
and  ankle  that  suit  the  costume  ;  they  are  small  enough 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  69 

and  well-shaped  enough  to  have  come  even  from  Cordova 
or  Seville. 

But,  while  selling  flowers  or  replying  to  some  of  the 
remarks  that  a  few  of  the  ladies  make  to  her,  her  eyes 
always  have  the  same  fevered,  excited  look  ;  though,  curi- 
ously enough,  Maurice  thinks  the  girl  never  seems  to 
notice  anything  pertaining  to  the  Prince's  game— she 
simply  attends  to  her  business,  which  is  quite  a  lucrative 
one. 

A  few  moments  after  Maurice's  arrival,  Monsieur 
Microbe  comes  along,  still  accompanied  by  the  two  ladies 
he  had  by  his  side  when  first  seen. 

This  young  gentleman  nonchalantly  insinuates  himself 
into  the  court  circle,  and  begs  to  trouble  Miss  Louise  for 
a  floweret.  The  girl  has  seen  him  coming.  De  Verney 
can  tell,  from  the  way  her  eyes  gleam,  that  she  already 
detests  her  customer.  She  bristles  up  ready  for  com- 
bat. 

At  seeing  her  attitude,  Monsieur  Microbe  astonishes 
her  :  he  takes  his  flower,  pays  her,  bows  humbly,  and 
leaves  her  without  a  word.  A  moment  after,  as  if  struck 
by  a  sudden  thought,  he  steps  back  to  her  and  says  a  few 
words.  The  girl's  cheeks  suddenly  pale.  If  anything 
could  crush  young  Microbe,  her  glance  would  ;  but  he 
treads  jauntily  back  to  his  companions,  while  she  gazes 
at  him  with  an  evil  eye. 

Maurice  has  been  unable  to  catch  what  Microbe 
has  said  to  Louise,  but,  being  near  the  ladies  accom- 
panying that  gentleman,  he  overhears  their  conversa- 
tion. 

"  What  did  you  say  to  that  child  to  put  her  in  such  a 
rage,  my  Romeo  of  the  can-can  ?  See  !  Mademoiselle 
has  torn  up  one  of  her  roses  in  her  temper  !  "  giggles  La 
Theresa. 

"  Oh  !  "  replies  Microbe,  "  I  simply  told  her  that  I  had 
heard  that  she  sang  under  the  nom  de  theatre  of  Theresa, 


JO  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

and  that  I  was  going  to  the  Alcazar  to-night.  I  would 
be  in  the  gallery,  and  she  could  know  me  by  my  feet 
hanging  over." 

"  Ah  !  poor  thing  !  You  hurt  her  feelings  ;  you  took 
her  for  La  Theresa !  "  cries  La  Millepieds,  laughing. 

At  which  the  fascinating  Theresa  gives  her  a  savage 
glance. 

Five  minutes  after  this,  Microbe  strolls  back  to  the 
flower-girl  again.  She  has  not  noticed  his  coming.  He 
says  :  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for  mistaking  you,  made- 
moiselle, for  La  Theresa,  who  has  charmed  Paris  by  her 
singing  at  the  Alcazar." 

The  girl  does  not  answer  a  word  to  this,  but  turns  her 
head  away. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  ask  your  pardon  humbly,"  murmurs 
Microbe  with  a  grin.  "  I  know  how  it  wounds  one  great 
artist  to  be  mistaken  for  another.  I  have  just  learned  that 
you  are  the  celebrated  La  Millepieds.  This  evening  I  go 
to  Le  Mabille.  I  shall  dance  myself ;  you  may  recognize 
me  by  my  rose.  Vive  le  can-can  !  "  Here  it  is  well  Mon- 
sieur Microbe  skips  away,  for  the  girl  might  have  at- 
tacked him  with  her  hands  and  nails,  and  the  crowd  would 
probably  have  given  the  young  man  an  impromptu  bath 
in  the  stream  that  was  conveniently  near  ;  for  Louise, 
the  flower-girl,  was  very  popular  with  the  habitues  of  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne. 

Maurice  himself,  though  not  hearing  this  conversation, 
catches  a  glimpse  of  Louise's  face,  and  sets  his  teeth  and 
clinches  his  hands  as  he  sees  how  well  his  assistant  actor 
is  playing  his  part  of  heavy  villain,  though  the  cue  for  his 
role  of  romantic  hero  has  not  as  yet  come.  He  feels 
ashamed  of  himself  for  the  plot  he  has  invented  for  gain- 
ing this  girl's  acquaintance,  but  at  the  same  moment  is 
strong  enough  to  say  that  the  game  must  be  played  out 
to  the  end,  for  he  has  just  heard  some  rather  common- 
place but  ominous  information  from  the  tutor,  and  a  little 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  71 

thing  now  occurs  that  makes  his  suspicions  of  the  flower- 
girl  very  near  to  certainties. 

Maurice  has  not  conversed  with  the  tutor  three 
minutes  before  he  finds  he  is  just  the  man  to  be  of  no 
use  to  himself  or  any  one  else  in  an  emergency.  This 
gentleman  has  been  selected  for  his  important  post  on 
account  of  his  knowledge  of  books,  not  men  ;  and,  though 
very  well  calculated  to  instruct  his  royal  charge  in  Latin, 
Greek,  mathematics  and  philosophy,  is  one  of  those 
highly  theoretical  creatures  who  are  never  practical. 

He  informs  Maurice  that  he  has  reported  to  the  Em- 
peror how  much  the  Prince  was  pleased  with  the  beauty 
and  accomplishments  of  this  flower-girl.  The  Emperor 
had  said  :  "  At  thirteen  the  heart  is  not  dangerous.  If 
my  son  two  years  from  now  looks  at  a  woman,  let  me 
know  at  once,  but  don't  say  anything  about  it  to 
Louis." 

"  I  myself  think  the  child  is  charming,"  murmurs  this 
man  of  books  ;  "  she  is  so  intelligent  for  her  years,  and  so 
well  read  for  one  in  her  station  in  life." 

"  Then  you've  had  some  conversation  with  her  ? " 
remarks  Maurice. 

"  Oh,  often  !  " 

"  Often  ?     You  have  known  her  long  ?  " 

"  About  three  weeks  !  She  presented  the  Prince  with  a 
beautiful  bouquet  on  his  Easter  drive  in  the  Bois,  and  he 
took  an  immediate  fancy  to  her.  Consequently  I  have 
often,  while  his  highness  is  playing,  given  Miss  Louise 
good  advice — she  is  so  innocent,  and  Paris  is,  I  am  in- 
formed, considered  wicked." 

"  Ah  !     What  advice  did  you  give  ?  " 

"  Well  !  "  remarks  the  tutor  with  a  smile,  "  I  warned 
the  young  lady  to  beware  of  young  gentlemen  of  fashion 
like  you,  Monsieur  de  Verney  !  " 

"  And  Louise  said  ?  "  asks  Maurice  rather  eagerly. 

"Louise  said,"  continues  Mr.  Bookworm,  "  that  gen- 


•J2  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

tlemen  like  me  were  much  more  dangerous.  Intellect 
always  attracted  her.  She  is  very  talented." 

"  Talented  enough  to  twist  you  round  her  pretty  little 
finger,"  thinks  Maurice,  for  the  tutor  seems  to  swell 
with  vanity  as  he  relates  his  intellectual  conquest. 

"  She  pinned  this  bud  in  my  button-hole.  It  is  a 
yellow  rose.  Do  you  think  she  can  be  jealous  of  me  ? 
You  know  the  language  of  flowers,  Monsieur  de  Ver- 
ney  ?  "  babbles  the  tutor. 

"  I  hope  you've  not  given  the  poor  girl  cause,"  says 
Maurice  dryly,  favoring  him  with  a  wink.  At  which 
flattery  the  other  sniggles  and  calls  him  a  wit,  and  opens 
his  heart  to  him  and  tells  him  everything  he  knows,  which 
in  the  chevalier's  accurate  mind  assumes  this  condensed 
form  : 

The  intimacy  between  the  Prince  and  the  flower-girl 
has  gradually  become  closer,  until  now  the  boy  insists  on 
seeing  and  buying  flowers  from  her  every  time  he  drives 
in  the  Bois,  which  is  about  three  times  a  week,  generally 
Mondays,  Wednesdays,  and  Saturdays,  but  not  always. 
As,  for  instance,  this  Tuesday,  the  weather  being  fine, 
advantage  has  been  taken  of  this  for  a  drive.  For  the 
last  week  the  Prince  has  generally  brought  some  of  his 
friends  with  him,  as  he  has  fallen  in  love  with  the  English 
game  of  hide  and  seek,  that  he  and  his  friends  usually 
play  in  this  spot.  That  the  tutor  is  not  sure,  but  rather 
thinks  that  the  game  was  suggested  by  Louise.  Anyway, 
she  takes  a  great  interest  in  it,  and  gives  a  prize  of 
flowers  to  the  boy  who  is  not  found,  WHICH  THE  PRINCE 
GENERALLY  WINS.  He  has  some  hiding-place  in  which 
no  one  has  as  yet  discovered  him. 

"  By  George  !  "  says  Maurice,  suddenly.  "  How  long 
has  he  been  hiding  now  ?  " 

"  About  half  an  hour.  It  is  perfectly  safe  here.  The 
boy  couldn't  get  lost  in  this  park  crowded  with  people." 

"  Isn't  he  lost  now  ? "  whispers  de  Verney.    "  That  boy 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  73 

Conneau  has  found  every  one  of  the  party  but  the  Prince. 
Do  you  think  you  could  discover  him  in  those  thickets  if 
a  boy  could  not  ?  " 

"  Of  course  ;  but  that's  part  of  the  game,"  remarks  the 
tutor,  complaisantly.  "  However,  you  see  he  is  coming 
in  now." 

For  young  Conneau  has  by  this  time  given  the  search 
up,  and  has  yelled  out  this  fact  till  the  Prince  has  heard 
it  and  come  out  of  hiding. 

Maurice  looks  at  the  flower-girl.  She  is  still  selling 
flowers,  but,  as  the  two  boys  run  down  the  hill  to  her,  she 
turns  to  them,  cries  "  Void  !  "  and  waves  a  great  bunch 
of  white  roses  that  she  has  kept  reserved  for  the  prize,  in 
the  bottom  of  her  basket. 

"  Perhaps  she'd  better  not  learn  that  the  Prince  knows 
me,"  thinks  de  Verney,  moving  to  the  rear  of  the  little 
crowd,  but  still  where  he  can  closely  observe  Louise. 

The  girl  stands  like  a  fair  picture  of  spring,  holding 
out  the  flowers  in  one  hand,  and  beckoning  the  two  youths 
to  her  with  the  other  white  member. 

As  they  approach  her,  the  boys  slacken  their  pace,  and 
she  bestows  the  prize  saying,  "  Your  highness  always 
wins." 

"  Yes,  we  know  the  place,  don't  we,  Mademoiselle 
Louise  !  "  cries  the  royal  boy,  the  flush  of  triumph,  youth 
and  happiness  upon  his  face.  Then  he  bows  to  her, 
little  gentleman  that  he  is,  and  says,  "Mille  remerciements, 
mademoiselle." 

And  as  the  boy  gives  her  a  gracious  smile  and  smells 
his  roses,  Maurice  can  see  the  flower-girl's  lips  quiver. 
Her  hand  trembles  as  she  gives  him  his  prize,  and  there 
are  tears  in  her  eyes — tears  of  pity.  Then  suddenly  the 
face  changes — into  her  eyes  comes  unconquerable  reso- 
lution. They  flame  and  flash,  not  as  an  animal  at  its 
prey,  but  like  the  eyes  he  has  seen  before  somewhere, 
the  eyes  he  suddenly  remembers — they  are  those  of 


74  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Joan  of  Arc,  in  an  old  picture  he  had  gazed  on  as  a 
child. 

He  mutters  to  himself,  "  Conspirator  and  patriot!" 
then  quite  sadly,  "  and  so  young  !  " 

He  has  no  more  time  for  philosophy  or  sentiment,  for 
the  Prince  is  preparing  to  go.  He  calls  his  companions 
together  and  divides  his  roses  among  them,  even  favor- 
ing his  tutor  with  some,  and  keeping  only  one  for  him- 
self. Then  he  remarks,  "  This  to  remember  you  !  Au 
revoir  !  "  and  mounting  his  carriage  is  driven  off. 

Maurice  takes  a  good  look  to  see  that  some  of  his 
officiers  de  stirete  are  on  guard  near  the  unsuspecting  boy's 
equipage,  then  places  his  eye  on  Louise  from  a  safe  dis- 
tance. She  makes  a  pretense  of  selling  a  few  more 
flowers — and  after  a  little  time,  apparently  with  empty 
basket,  takes  her  departure  on  foot,  walking  down  the 
road  to  the  Madrid,  till  she  meets  an  intersecting  path 
leading  to  the  lakes  and  in  the  direction  of  the  Porte  de 
Passy. 

This  is  only  a  little  over  a  mile  and  a  half  from  here, 
and,  the  afternoon  being  fine,  is  but  a  pleasant  walk  for  a 
girl  of  her  health,  strength  and  youth. 

This  coincides  with  the  girl's  address,  as  Maurice  has 
received  it  from  Monsieur  Microbe.  Not  wishing  to 
appear  to  follow  her,  he  strides  rapidly  back  to  the  Jardin 
d'Acclimatation  and  encounters  the  crowd  that  is  now 
streaming  from  its  gates  to  return  to  Paris.  This  is 
now  embellished  by  a  number  of  coco  venders  and 
providers  of  other  cooling  drinks,  who,  scenting  busi- 
ness, have  wandered  from  their  more  natural  haunts 
of  the  Champs  Elysees,  to  do  a  good  trade  among  the 
thirsty  children  that  are  now  taking  a  last  squint,  this 
afternoon,  at  their  animal  pets,  which  some  of  them  may 
eat  two  years  after,  with  a  very  fair  gusto,  during  the 
siege  of  Paris  by  the  conquering  Teuton. 

Elbowing  his  way  through  this  motley  throng,  Maurice 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  75 

calls  his  groom,  mounts  his  phaeton,  and  bowls  along 
toward  the  Porte  de  Passy  at  a  slashing  gait,  for  he  must 
arrive  there  before  the  flower-girl,  for  whom  this  after- 
noon he  has  prepared  a  romantic  and  unexpected  episode. 

Passing  the  Porte  Dauphin  to  his  left,  he  drives  directly 
down  the  Allee  des  Fortifications,  thus  avoiding  the  con- 
course of  broughams,  victorias,  landaus,  and  carriages 
of  all  descriptions  now  thronging  from  the  lakes  towards 
the  Avenue  de  1'Imperatrice  en  route  for  Paris  ;  and,  in 
less  than  twenty  minutes,  notwithstanding  he  again 
encounters  a  crowd  coming  in  from  the  Carrefour  des 
Cascades,  finds  himself  in  quite  a  crush  of  vehicles  at  the 
Porte  de  Passy. 

The  speed  at  which  he  has  come  makes  him  certain,  if 
the  girl  takes  a  direct  route  to  her  home,  that  he  will  see 
her  pass  through  this  entrance  to  the  Bois. 

He  stops  his  horses  and  remains  near  the  gate,  quite 
sure  that  she  will  not  notice  him,  as  the  crowd  of  car- 
riages is  so  great  ;  and,  though  cursed  under  their 
breaths  by  many  returning  jehus,  holds  his  position  for 
ten  minutes  or  more,  till  he  sees  the  young  lady  he 
is  looking  for  among  the  pedestrians  that  are  passing 
from  the  Bois  through  what  was  then  called  the  Boulevard 
Rossini  toward  the  little  railroad  station  of  Passy. 

Driving  slowly  along,  he  contrives  to  keep  her  in 
sight,  though  at  a  distance,  as  she  turns  into  the  Avenue 
du  Ranelagh  and  past  the  railroad. 

Here  she  takes  a  sharp  turn  to  the  right,  and  a  minute 
after  is  in  the  less  frequented  Rue  de  Vignes. 

In  1868  this  street  has  almost  the  air  of  the  country  ; 
a  few  villas,  some  gardens,  and  unimproved  land  waiting 
for  the  builder  to  make  up  a  good  part  of  its  landscape. 
As  soon  as  she  is  out  of  the  crowd,  the  girl  slackens 
her  pace,  as  if  in  deep  thought  ;  then,  being  quite  alone, 
after  a  minute,  takes  from  her  pocket  a  letter  and  reads 
it  as  she  walks  along. 


76  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Its  contents  are  not  altogether  pleasing.  Maurice  can 
see  her  once  or  twice  give  a  gesture  of  almost  anger, 
though  she  is  at  too  great  a  distance  for  him  to  discern 
any  other  details. 

This  is  the  street  upon  which  Louise  lives,  according 
to  Microbe's  report.  Maurice  drives  along  about  two 
hundred  yards  behind  her,  looking  for  the  denouement. 

He  has  not  very  long  to  wait,  for  he  has  driven  only  a 
few  minutes  when  he  sees  Monsieur  Microbe  saunter  out 
of  a  little  cross-street.  This  fascinating  creature  gives 
Louise  a  sweet  glance  and  remarks  complacently  "  Ah, 
there  !  " — then  strikes  an  attitude,  sucking  the  end  of  his 
little  cane,  and  stands  awaiting  the  approach  of  his 
victim. 

The  girl,  looking  up  at  his  voice,  sees  him,  crumples 
the  letter  in  her  hand,  and  for  a  moment  seems  to  hesi- 
tate ;  then,  having  made  up  her  mind  to  face  her  tor- 
mentor— for  she  has  guessed  the  errand  that  young 
Microbe  comes  upon — walks  resolutely  up  to  him,  with 
eyes  flaming,  though  she  turns  her  head  away  and  would 
pass  him  without  a  word,  if  this  representative  of  the 
depraved  petite  cr eve's  would  but  let  her. 

Maurice  looks  round  ;  there  is  no  one  to  rob  him  of 
his  r6le  of  hero  ;  the  street  is  entirely  deserted  ;  he  can 
only  see  a  couple  of  men  working  at  some  distance  in  a 
little  garden.  He  mutters  to  himself,  "  Now,  then,  for 
the  grand  romantic  ! "  gives  a  little  chuckle,  and  drives 
along  to  arrive  in  the  nick  of  time. 

Microbe,  seeing  Maurice,  begins  to  play  his  cards 
boldly  and  in  a  hurry. 

As  the  girl  is  about  to  pass  him,  he  steps  in  front  of 
her,  and,  with  a  low  bow,  remarks  :  "  Mademoiselle  did 
not  do  me  the  honor  to  say  if  she  would  dance  with  me 
at  the  Mabille  this  evening  !  " 

Louise  only  answers  this  with  a  glance  ;  but  her 
beautiful  face  is  pale  as  death,  and  if  the  girl  were 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  77 

armed  Microbe  would  have  retreated  ;  for  this  young 
gentleman  is  an  accurate  student  of  human  nature, 
and  he  thinks,  in  his  light-hearted  way,  "  Wouldn't 
mademoiselle  like  to  put  a  knife  in  me  ?  " 

As  she  is  not,  he  continues  :  "  Ah  !  dumb  to  your  hum- 
ble admirer  ?  You  can't  mean  it.  I  saw  you  the  other 
evening  at  the  Mabille.  You  dance  very  well !  " 

"  Liar  !  "  the  girl  hisses,  for  she  is  a  woman  and  must 
speak. 

"  Indeed,  you  do.  I  assure  you,  you  dance  deliciously. 
But  I  am  a  dancer  myself.  I  have  on  my  Mabille 
clothes.  Permit  me  to  show  my  agility  !  " 

And,  with  this,  Monsieur  Microbe  gives  a  few  steps  of 
a  jumping-jack  pas  seul  that  would  have  made  his  for- 
tune on  the  stage. 

"  Now  I  am -sure  you  will  not  refuse  me.  The  can- 
can begins  at  eleven  !  Ough  !  Le  diable  f  " 

This  last  is  a  yell  of  surprise  and  pain,  for  his  victim 
has  walked  straight  up  to  him  and  given  him  two  sound- 
ing boxes  upon  the  ear. 

"  Egad  !  she  can  take  care  of  herself  !  "  thinks  Mau- 
rice, with  a  laugh,  for  he  is  now  coming  quite  near. 

"  Ah,  those  slaps  shall  be  repaid  with  kisses  ! "  cries 
Microbe,  half  in  rage,  half  in  love,  for  the  girl's  cheeks 
are  now  flaming,  and  her  eyes  are  now  flashing  with  a 
grand  though  terrible  beauty.  "  You  drove  away  poor 
Achille,  your  barber  lover,  but  we  boys  of  the  Quar- 
tier  Latin  are  different  chaps  !  "  With  the  agility  of  a 
monkey  and  the  strength  of  an  ape,  he  seizes  the  beautiful 
and  panting  creature  before  him,  and  despite  her  strug- 
gles— for  the  girl  only  gives  one  loud,  long  scream,  and 
then  fights  silently — he  kisses  twice  the  blushing  cheeks. 

Maurice,  cursing  his  plot  and  ready  to  beat  his  accom- 
plice to  a  jelly,  drives  forward  with  a  muttered  execration, 
for  this  last  performance  of  Microbe  seems  to  him  a 
sacrilege — one  entirely  uncontemplated  in  his  plan,  even 


78  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

before  he  had  seen  the  beauty  of  the  girl.  He  will  now 
avenge  her  in  reality  ! 

He  has  given  his  horses  the  lash.  In  another  ten 
seconds  he  will  be  at  the  girl's  side,  when  suddenly,  down 
the  little  street,  a  big,  brawny,  broad-shouldered  giant,  in 
workingman's  blouse,  comes  running,  and  with  an  awful 
German  curse  seizes  young  Microbe,  twists  him  round 
to  him  face  to  face,  and  shakes  him  as  a  gorilla  does  a 
little  teasing  monkey. 

Microbe  gives  one  astonished  gulp,  then  fights  violently, 
courageously,  and  desperately,  but  with  as  much  chance 
as  if  he  were  standing  up  to  a  Bengal  tiger.  He  is  shaken 
till  his  tongue  is  half  bitten  off.  He  thinks  his  heart  will 
jump  out  of  his  mouth.  Then  the  giant,  with  a  con- 
temptuous snort,  pitches  him  over  the  hedge  into  the 
neighboring  lot. 

"  What  did  he  do  ? "  asks  the  German  avenger  hur- 
riedly of  the  girl,  who  is  rubbing  her  cheeks  as  if  to  wipe 
away  something  hateful. 

"  He  kissed  me  !  "  hisses  Louise.  "  Kill  him  !  Kill 
him  !  !  KILL  HIM  !  !  !  " 

With  that  the  Teuton,  as  if  to  obey  her  order,  jumps 
over  the  hedge  after  Microbe  ;  but  that  young  man  has 
recovered  a  little  of  his  wind.  As  the  German  springs 
into  the  field,  he  leaps  out  of  it,  and,  pursued  by  the 
avenger  of  Louise,  runs  wildly  down  the  street,  proving 
himself,  if  not  a  boxer,  at  least  a  sprinter  of  first-rate 
speed. 

The  two  disappear,  and  Maurice,  who  has  watched  the 
affair  in  astonished  silence,  mutters  to  himself  very 
savagely  :  "  I  planned  this  scene  for  the  benefit  of  a 
rustic  Hercules." 

All  the  time  he  is  thinking  how  he  may  turn  it  to  his 
advantage,  and  in  some  manner  still  make  the  flower- 
girl's  acquaintance. 

He  has  almost  given  up  the  idea,  however,  for  it  is  but 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  ,  79 

a  poor  hero  who  comes  up  after  the  battle  is  over,  when 
he  sees  Louise,  who  has  been  following  Microbe  and  his 
pursuer,  suddenly  stop.  She  utters  a  little  cry,  and 
begins  to  search  hurriedly  for  something  upon  the 
ground. 

This  something  he  catches  sight  of.  Driving  quickly 
to  the  spot  he  jumps  out  and  picks  up  a  letter. 

Raising  his  hat  he  politely  says  :  "  Is  this  what  you  are 
seeking,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

The  girl  gives  a  start,  looks  relieved,  and  almost  joy- 
ously cries  :  "  Yes  !  I  dropped  it  when  that  wretch  seized 
me."  Then  holds  out  her  hand  eagerly  for  it. 

Here  Maurice  gives  a  start  also,  for  he  suddenly 
notices  that  the  envelope  inclosing  this  letter  is  yellow 
and  has  no  stamp  or  postmark  on  it,  and,  contriving  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  address,  sees  the  identical  handwrit- 
ing of  the  chemical  treatise  written  by  the  man  Hermann, 
that  he  had  glanced  at  that  morning  at  No.  55  Rue  de 
Maubeuge. 

In  a  flash  it  comes  to  him — this  is  one  of  the  two  notes 
left  at  the  flower  kiosk  in  the  Boulevard  Montmartre. 

Then  he  quietly  hands  her  the  letter,  remarking  :  "  I 
saw  the  insult  offered  you,  and  had  hoped  to  arrive  in 
time  to  resent  it,  but  another  was  more  fortunate.  In 
his  absence,  can  I  offer  to  see  you  safely  to  your  home  ?  " 

While  he  is  making  this  speech,  the  girl  has  hurriedly 
glanced  at  the  letter  as  if  to  be  sure  it  is  the  one  she 
lost,  and  then  shoved  it  in  her  pocket.  She  now  replies, 
"  I  am  much  obliged,  but  I  think  you  had  better  not." 

"  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  unprotected,  that  man  may 
return,"  persists  Maurice. 

At  this  he  gets  more  information  and  another  surprise. 
The  girl  gives  a  malicious  laugh  and  says,  "  If  Auguste, 
my  " — she  checks  herself,  then  goes  on  hurriedly — "  my 
guardian  gets  hold  of  him  again,  there  won't  be  much  of 
that  man  to  come  back." 


80  THAT    FRENCHMAN 


"  Auguste  is 


"  My  guardian,  and  the  man  whom  you  saw  punish  the 
wretch  who  insulted  me,"  cries  the  girl.  Then  she  con- 
tinues, "  Perhaps  he'd  better  not  see  you  here  ;  he  is  very 
jeal— impulsive,  and  was  once  professor  of  athletics  at 
Heidelberg  !  " 

"  Oh  !  you  fear  for  my  safety  !  "  laughs  Maurice.  "  I 
am  sure  I  can  satisfy  your  guardian,  and  I  hope  mademoi- 
selle does  not  doubt  me  ? "  This  last  a  little  tenderly,  for 
face  to  face  with  this  beauty  his  heart  is  beating  quickly. 

«  NO — o,"  contemplatively. 

"  You  surely  do  not  class  me  with  the  wretch  who  has 
just  now  annoyed  you  ? "  This  is  said  in  a  tone  of 
indignation. 

"  No  !  "  she  returns.  "  You  are  not  even  like  the  gal- 
lants of  the  court,  some  of  whom  have  persecuted  me, 
though  more  politely  than  that  creature  who,  I  believe, 
stated  he  represented  the  Quartier  Latin.  No," — then 
she  looks  Maurice  over  from  head  to  foot,  and  mutters, 
"  You  are  very  different  from  any  who  have  presumed 
on  my  being  a  flower-girl  ;  your  dress  shows  me  you  are 
a  gentleman." 

Here  Maurice  blesses  the  philosophy  that  made  him 
drive  nine  miles  to  change  his  clothes. 

"If  you  think  so  well  of  me,"  he  says,  "let  me  offer 
my  escort.  I  should  not  like  to  leave  you  alone  after 
the  episode  I  saw  but  a  minute  ago." 

Once  more  Louise  astonishes  him.  She  gives  him 
a  little  laugh  that  has  a  mock  in  it  and  returns,  "  Very 
well,  if  you  will  brave  my  guardian.  I  hope  you  won't 
be  tired  ;  my  home  is  but  fifty  yards  away,  Monsieur 
de  Verney  !  " — pointing  up  the  cross-street,  from  which 
the  avenger  issued,  to  a  little  two-story  house  that 
sits  some  fifty  feet  away  from  the  street,  and  is  backed 
by  a  garden  and  conservatories,  from  which  evidently  the 
flowers  she  sells  are  picked.  At  the  gate  of  this  place 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  8l 

an  old  German  woman  is  caressing  a  large,  lazy,  gray 
cat,  that  is  seated  on  one  of  its  posts. 

"  You  know  my  name  ?  "  says  Maurice,  somewhat  sur- 
prised. 

"Very  well,"  the  girl  replies,  unaffectedly.  "Your 
equipage  " — here  she  glances  at  the  stylish  turn-out — "  is 
frequently  seen  in  the  Bois." 

"  Quite  a  compliment  for  my  horses  and  flunkies," 
mutters  Maurice,  wincing,  for  even  great  men  are  some- 
times vain.  Then  he  continues,  "  I  had  hoped,  when  you 
mentioned  my  name,  it  had  become  known  to  you  in  a 
more  worthy  way." 

His  tone  of  annoyance  in  this  remark  is  flattering  to 
the  young  lady.  She  says,  "  I  have  also  heard  that  you 
are  considered  a  very  clever  man,  and  are  sometimes  con- 
sulted by  the  Emperor  ;  but,  if  you  wish  to  be  sure  I  get 
safely  home,  follow  me.  I  see  Mother  Gretchen  and 
Lamia  looking  for  me  at  the  gate."  She  turns  and  walks 
up  the  little  street,  Maurice  thinks  rather  briskly. 

The  old  German  woman  seeing  this,  goes  back  slowly 
to  the  house,  and  the  cat  follows  her  example. 

In  answer  to  de  Verney's  inquiring  look,  Louise 
explains,  "  Gretchen  is  Auguste's  mother  ;  she  takes  care 
of  the  house  for  her  son,  and  the  rest  of  her  time  helps 
to  cultivate  his  roses.  You  see,  we  are  all  German,  and 
work." 

"  Yes,"  replies  Maurice,  "  your  hands  show  that  !  "  and 
he  looks  at  the  two  small,  white  ones  of  his  companion — 
one  of  which  is  doing  nothing,  and  the  other  toying  with 
her  last  rose-bud— for  he  is  gallantly  carrying  her  basket. 

"  And  who  is  Lamia  ? "  asks  de  Verney  after  a  moment- 
ary pause,  with  perhaps  a  tone  of  jealousy. 

"  Oh  !  Lamia  is  the  cat."  Here  the  girl  looks  at  him 
and  laughs.  "  Don't  look  angry.  I  don't  love  cats." 

During  this  short  walk,  Maurice  had  been  thinking 
rapidly,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  two  things — one  is 


82  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

that  the  girl  intends  to  bid  him  good-by  at  the  gate,  and 
the  other  is,  that  he  will  see  the  inside  of  that  house. 

As  soon  as  they  get  near  the  entrance  to  the  garden, 
he  steps  rapidly  forward  and  up  the  walk  to  the  house. 

The  girl  with  a  little  cry  springs  after  him,  and,  almost 
seizing  his  arm,  says,  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  put  your  basket  inside,  of  course,"  he  says  lightly, 
gazing  into  her  face,  which  is  quite  pale,  and  looks  older 
than  he  had  before  thought  it  to  be — perhaps  twenty- two 
or  three.  "  I'm  a  Frenchman,  and  could  not  permit  a 
young  lady  to  carry  her  basket  even  up  the  walk. " 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  offer  to  do  that  for  me  on  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne — if  you  are  so  gallant  ? "  says  the  girl, 
with  a  mocking  laugh. 

"  Besides,  I  hope  to  be  introduced  to  Mamma 
Gretchen  ? "  During  this,  Maurice  has  edged  a  little 
nearer  the  door,  which  the  old  woman  has  left  open  for 
the  entrance  of  Louise. 

"  You  must  not  go  in " 

But,  while  she  says  this,  the  trick  has  been  done. 
Maurice  has  stepped  into  the  door,  deposited  the  basket 
in  the  hall,  and  taken  a  hurried  coup  d'ceil  of  the  house. 
A  stairway  leads  up  to  the  second  story,  and  an  open  door 
permits  a  glance  at  the  sitting-room— this  is  furnished  in 
extraordinary  style  for  the  home  of  a  flower-gardener. 
He  has  noted  a  piano,  and  altogether  too  much  luxury 
for  people  of  this  class. 

"  You  have  a  very  pretty  little  cage,"  he  murmurs,  step- 
ping out  to  her,  apparently  unheeding  the  flash  there  is  in 
her  eyes. 

Then  she  whispers  to  him  with  quivering  lips  :  "  Why 
don't  you  heed  me  ?  Can't  you  see,  I  tremble  for  fear  my 
guardian  may  find  you  here  ? " 

"  I  can  protect  myself  !  "  returns  Maurice,  half  angrily  ; 
for  he  thinks  :  "  Does  this  girl  believe  I'm  a  coward  ?" 

Her  answer  makes  him  ashamed  of  himself.     "  But 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  83 

me"  she  says — •'  but  me  !  Auguste  is  so — so  impulsive. 
He  is  my  guardian." 

Just  at  this  moment,  however,  Herr  Auguste  arrives,  to 
give  his  own  character  in  person. 

His  burly  arm  swings  the  gate  to  with  a  crash — his 
burly  body  slouches  savagely  up  the  walk.  His  burly 
voice,  speaking  Alsacian  German,  growls  :  "  Here's  an- 
other of  them  !  Ein  tausend  Teufels  !  " — while  he  would 
advance  almost  threateningly  on  the  Frenchman,  were 
not  the  girl  in  his  way. 

She  has  run  down  the  path  to  him,  and  a  few  moments 
of  hurried  conversation  takes  place  between  the  man 
and  his  ward.  Maurice  only  catches  "  influence  "  and 
"  power,"  but,  whatever  it  is,  the  effect  seems  to  be 
momentarily  soothing  to  this  German  giant,  who  stands 
at  least  six  feet  high,  is  broad-shouldered  and  strong 
in  proportion,  and  for  his  weight  seems  extremely 
active. 

Maurice  notes  this  as  the  interview  goes  on  near  him, 
and  the  athlete's  face  gradually  becomes  more  good- 
natured — but  here  a  thing  takes  place  that  he  cannot 
understand  :  he  catches  a  glance  between  this  man  and 
woman  such  as  guardian  and  ward  seldom  give  each 
other,  and  wonders  :  "  Can  these  two  love  ?  " 

A  moment  after  Louise  comes  up  to  him  with  the  Ger- 
man and  says,  "  Monsieur  de  Verney,  let  me  introduce  my 
guardian,  Auguste  Lieber,  who  wishes  to  thank  you  for 
the  great  service  you  have  done  for  me  to-day." 

"  Great  service  !  "  rather  astounds  Maurice.  He  ima- 
gines the  young  lady  has  been  telling  her  guardian  fibs  ; 
but  the  name  Auguste  Lieber  suddenly  recalls  Regnier's 
report.  This  man  is  the  proprietor  of  the  flower  kiosk 
in  the  Boulevard  Montmartre.  The  two  branches  of 
the  conspiracy  are  now  coming  very  close  together. 

He,  however,  acknowledges  the  salute  of  the  German, 
and  compliments  him  on  his  pretty  flowers  ;  but  even 


84  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

during  this  short  speech  Lieber  seems  anxious  for  him 
to  be  going ;  and,  a  moment  after,  remarks  to  Louise 
that  dinner  soon  will  be  ready.  Then  turning  to  Mau- 
rice, as  if  this  hint  were  not  sufficient,  says  :  "  Monsieur 
de  Verney,  I  would  ask  you  to  come  again,  but  such  rich 
noble  people  as  you  should  not  associate  with  such  poor 
people  as  we.  My  ward  is  only  a  flower-girl,  and  no 
matter  how  honorable  the  nobleman  who  is  kind  to  her, 
his  kindness  can  only  do  her  harm.  Good-evening  !  " 

This  is  said  with  a  most  exaggerated  politeness  of  man- 
ner and  a  peculiar  sarcastic  inflexion  upon  the  "  poor  " 
and  "noble  "  in  the  speech,  over  which  he  seems  to  grind 
his  teeth  in  rage  and  envy. 

"  Good-evening,  monsieur,"  says  Maurice,  pleasantly  ; 
"good-evening,  mademoiselle."  He  gives  the  girl,  who 
has  been  biting  her  lips  through  this,  the  bow  of  a 
courtier.  She  holds  out  her  hand.  He  presses  it  slightly. 
The  pressure  is  returned. 

He  strolls  down  the  walk,  and  as  he  does  so  the  guard- 
ian gives  the  ward  a  letter  he  has  taken  from  his  pocket, 
and  goes  sulkily  into  the  house. 

The  next  moment  Maurice  steps  back  to  the  girl,  and 
says  :  "  You  do  not  think  so  badly  of  me  as  your  guard- 
ian ?  Believe  me,  I  feel  how  much  your  bread  of  life 
costs  you.  A  flower-girl  is  exposed  to  so  many  tempta- 
tions, so  many  insults."  He  is  trying  to  see  the  letter 
that  the  girl  carelessly  holds  in  the  folds  of  her  dress. 

Her  answer  startles  him. 

"  Thank  God!  it  wont  last  long  !  "  Then  she  says  im- 
pulsively :  "  I  am  told  you  are  very  influential.  Some 
day  I  may— — " 

"  Louise,  come  into  the  house  !  "  cries  Lieber  very 
sharply,  opening  the  front  door. 

Without  a  word  the  girl  darts  from  de  Verney  and  runs 
in,  but,  as  she  does  so,  he  catches  sight  of  the  letter  she 
has  in  her  hand.  Its  envelope  is  yellow !  Probably  the 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  85 

second  one  written  by  the  German  chemist  at  No.  55 
Rue  de  Maubeuge  this  day. 

Meditating  upon  this  fact  and  the  words  "  Thank 
God  !  it  won't  last  long  !  "  and  making  up  his  mind  as  to 
his  further  action,  the  chevalier  drives  into  the  main  por- 
tion of  Paris,  and  straight  to  his  room  in  the  Rue 
d'Hautville. 

Here  he  gets  one  sensation,  and  gives  another. 

They  are  both  short  and  sharp. 

Frangois,  as  he  lets  him  in,  says  with  a  significant 
grin  :  "  He  is  in  there  !  "  pointing  to  the  dining-room. 
"  I  did  not  dare  place  him  in  the  parlor  ;  he  would  have 
ruined  the  satin  furniture." 

"  Who  ?  "  cries  Maurice,  impulsively  striding  to  the 
dining-room,  where  a  melancholy  apparition  rises  up  in 
front  of  him  and  shrieks  :  "  Behold  me  !  Mon  Dieu  /  my 
Mabille  suit !  " 

De  Verney  takes  one  look  at  him,  then,  after  a  gallant 
fight,  gives  a  yell  of  laughter  ;  for  Microbe,  the  dashing 
dude  of  the  Quartier  Latin,  has  been  transformed  into 
one  of  Eugene  Sue's  most  disreputable  rag-pickers  of 
Paris.  His  gorgeous  vest  is  no  more  ;  his  coat  is  slit 
from  collar  to  waist  ;  his  lavender  trousers  are  brown  with 
mud  ;  his  burnished  tile  and  natty  cane  have  disappeared. 

After  a  moment,  Maurice  by  an  effort  controls  himself, 
and  manages  to  get  out,  "  Did  he  catch  you  again  ?  " 

"  Le  Diable  !  Yes  !  Oh  !  how  strong  he  is — the  German 
brute  !  "  screams  poor  Microbe.  Then  he  mutters  sadly, 
"  I  was  to  have  danced  at  the  Mabille  next  Sunday  the 
Grand  Ecart ;  no  one  in  France  does  it  like  me.  The 
crowds  scream  at  me  ;  my  partner  is  as  graceful  as  I  am  !  " 
Here  he  utters  a  yell  of  despair,  "Mon  Dieu  !  Poor  Clo- 
thilde  !  She  will  dance  with  some  one  else  !  " — and  two 
tears  of  hopeless  misery  struggle  out  of  his  eyes  and 
make  marks  upon  his  dirty  cheeks. 

De  Verney,  who  has  forgotten  by  this  time  his  rage  at 


86  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Microbe's  kisses  to  Louise,  says  after  a  moment,  "  You 
did  this  under  my  orders.  How  much  will  it  cost  to  re- 
place your  Mabille  suit  ? " 

"  You — you  will  do  this  for  me  ?  "  mutters  Microbe  in 
an  anxious,  trembling  voice.  Then,  without  waiting  for 
an  answer,  he  cries,  "  Two  hundred  and  fifty  francs,  but 
Levy,  the  tailor  of  the  Rue  du  Temple,  will  demand  only 
half  down — one  hundred  and  twenty-five  francs.  That's 
all — only  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  francs— my  savior 
de  Verney  !  " 

"  Here  are  three  hundred  !  "  says  Maurice  quietly, 
and  gives  him  the  money.  "  You're  not  hurt,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Hurt  ?  No  !  Only  with  your  kindness  !  "  and,  after 
the  impulsive  manner  of  his  nation,  he  kisses  de  Verney's 
hand — and,  though  Maurice  does  not  know  it,  he  has  put 
out  capital  at  long  and  compound  interest  that  will  come 
back  to  him  in  words  that  make  the  difference  of  life  and 
death. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    BROKEN    THREAD. 

A  FEW  minutes  after  this  he  sends  Microbe  away — 
first  to  give  a  note  to  Monsieur  Claude  at  the  Bureau 
de  Surete,  asking  him  to  send  some  more  officers  to  re- 
lieve those  on  watch  over  Hermann  Margo  and  the  flower 
kiosk  during  the  night ;  so  that  Regnier,  Marcillac,  and 
Jolly  may  report  to  him  the  results  of  their  day's  obser- 
vations. This  is  to  be  done  as  rapidly  as  possible. 
Microbe  is  to  make  himself  respectable  once  more,  get 
some  dinner,  and  come  back  to  him  by  half-past  seven  at 
the  latest.  • 

It  is  now  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  an  hour  and 
thirty  minutes  is  not  a  great  deal  of  time  in  which  to  do 
these  things  ;  but  the  girl's  words,  "  it  won't  last  long," 
have  impressed  themselves  on  the  chevalier's  mind,  and 
he  can't  get  out  of  his  head  that  the  denouement  is  draw- 
ing quite  near. 

An  hour  after  this  Regnier  and  Marcillac  arrive. 

Regnier  reports  as  follows  :  "  Nothing  happened  at 
flower  kiosk  after  he  sent  last  report,  except  that  Auguste 
Lieber,  the  proprietor,  came  back  shortly  after  the  man 
Hermann  left  his  last  yellow  letter  and  departed  on  his 
promenade  with  his  red  rose-bud.  Lieber  looked  after 
his  business  half  an  hour,  and  then  went  away  toward 
his  home  at  Passy.  When  he  had  gone,  the  second  letter 
of  the  German's  disappeared  also." 

This  is  what  Maurice  had  expected.  He  now  inquires 
about  the  girl  who  acts  as  Lieber's  assistant  at  the 


88  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

flower  kiosk,  and  learns  that  her  name  is  Rose  ;  she  is 
sixteen,  has  occupied  her  position  for  two  years,  being 
one  of  the  fixtures  transferred  by  the  former  proprietor 
when  he  sold  out  to  Lieber  a  month  ago.  "  You  can  see 
her  yourself,"  remarks  Regnier.  "  Rose  sells  flowers  at 
the  Varietes  every  night." 

"Very  well,"  returns  Maurice,  "I  will  try  and  drop 
into  that  theater  this  evening  and  interview  Mademoiselle 
Rose." 

Then  he  turns  to  Marcillac  and  is  told  that  the  man 
Hermann  returned  to  No.  55  Rue  de  Maubeuge  at 
3  P.  M.  Jolly  came  back  after  him.  At  about  six  he  went 
but  again,  this  time  carrying  a  good-sized  bundle.  Mon- 
sieur Jolly  followed  him,  and  will  report  his  actions  on 
both  journeys. 

Maurice  then  lets  the  men  go,  ordering  them  to 
report  to  him  the.  next  day,  and  waits  anxiously  for 
Jolly.  Until  he  learns  what  passed  on  Hermann's  prom- 
enades, he  hardly  dares  to  make  another  move. 

Ten  minutes  after  this,  Jolly  appears,  excited,  dejected, 
and  out  of  breath. 

"  Has  he  run  away  from  you  ? "  queries  de  Verney, 
looking  at  his  panting  subordinate. 

"  He  has  done  worse,"  mutters  Jolly  savagely.  "  He 
has  made  a  fool  of  me  and  dodged  me.  I  have  been 
forty  years  on  the  force,  and  till  to-night  thought  I  knew 
Paris." 

"  Tell  me  about  it !  "  says  Maurice,  very  calm,  but  by 
no  means  happy. 

"  The  first  promenade  of  the  villain  Hermann,"  mutters 
Jolly,  "  was  this  :  After  I  bolted  from  you  this  morning 
in  his  pursuit,  he  walked  so  fast  I  could  hardly  keep  him 
in  sight  to  the  flower  kiosk ;  there  he  left  his  second  let- 
ter after  the  girl  shook  her  head  at  him.  Then  he  went 
along  the  boulevards  on  his  usual  promenade  ;  but  from 
leaving  the  kiosk  his  pace  became  that  of  a  snail  ;  he 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  89 

looked  into  every  shop  window,  he  paused  at  every  cross- 
ing. The  only  way  I  could  naturally  keep  behind  him 
was  to  pretend  to  be  lame.  He  was  giving  somebody 
every  chance  to  see  his  red  rose." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  I  know  that  !  "  says  Jolly  solemnly,  "  because  the 
flower  was  on  his  left  side,  and  he  always  looked  into 
every  window  over  his  right  shoulder,  thus  keeping  the 
rose  in  full  view.  He  wanted  that  flower  seen  by  some- 
body. The  days  he  had  on  a  white  rose-bud  he  never 
troubled  himself  about  it." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  nothing  happened  till  he  had  gone  to  the  Made- 
leine and  was  on  his  return  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 
He  was  looking  into  a  window,  when  a  man  passing 
hurriedly  from  the  other  direction  brushed  right  up 
against  him.  That  man  was  Auguste  Lieber,  the  propri- 
etor of  the  flower  kiosk." 

"  They  spoke  to  each  other  ? " 

"  Not  a  word  ;  but  I  had  limped  near  to  him,  and 
after  Lieber  had  passed  on  his  way,  Hermann " 

"  Was  putting  a  letter  in  his  pocket  ? "  asks  Maurice 
eagerly. 

"  Not  at  all  !  He  was  preparing  to  make  a  cigarette  ; 
had  just  taken  out  his  pouch  of  tobacco,  and  had  a  little 
piece  of  cigarette  paper  in  his  hand." 

"  Pish  !  "  This  is  an  exclamation  of  annoyance  from 
de  Verney. 

"  He  strolled  along  making  his  cigarette,  looked  into 
two  or  three  more  shop-windows,  and  then  left  his  snail's 
pace  behind  him,  and  started  home  at  a  very  quick 
pace." 

"Did  he  smoke  that  cigarette  ? "  asks  Maurice  sud- 
denly. 

"  I'm  no  fool,"  returns  Jolly,  with  a  grin  of  delight, 
"  I  kept  my  eyes  on  that  cigarette.  He  did  not  smoke  it ; 


90  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

he  placed  it  in  his  pocket ;  then,  after  a  time,  produced 
another  and  smoked  that." 

"  THEN,  BY  HEAVENS  !  THAT  CIGARETTE  PAPER  CON- 
TAINED THE  WORDS  TO  COMPLETE  THE  CIPHER  !  " 

ejaculates  de  Verney.  A  moment  after  he  says  more 
quietly  :  "  Continue  your  story  !  " 

"  Then,"  replies  Jolly,  "  he  got  home,  and  Marcillac 
and  I  watched  till  about  six,  when  out  our  man  comes 
again — this  time  carrying  a  bundle.  He  starts  off  at  a 
good  pace,  and  I  after  him.  He  went  to  the  Boulevard 
de  Magenta  ;  then  he  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  minute,  in 
fact,  at  one  time,  turned  north,  as  if  going  to  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Montmartre;  a  minute  after  he  started  south  as 
fast  as  his  legs  would  take  him,  in  his  haste  running  against 
people — he  is  very  short-sighted,  and  it  was  growing  dusk. 

"  However,  I  kept  my  eyes  on  him,  though  that  became 
more  and  more  difficult  ;  for  every  step  took  us  nearer 
the  crowded  parts  of  the  city.  Hermann  never  stopped 
a  second,  even  when  we  got  to  the  Place  de  la  Bastille, 
but  darted  across  that,  down  the  Rue  du  Temple.  Paris 
seemed  as  familiar  to  him  as  it  was  to  me.  My  task  was 
now  very  difficult ;  it  had  become  dark.  He  kept  a  pretty 
straight  course  to  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  Here  he  was 
nearly  run  over  by  an  omnibus.  I  hoped  that  would 
stop  him.  I  had  come  a  mile  and  a  half  like  a  race- 
horse, and  was  panting  ;  but  no,  he  bolted  down  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli,  turned  sharp  to  his  right  through  the 
Rue  Louis  Philippe  and  across  that  bridge,  then  into  the 
labyrinth  of  streets  in  old  Paris,  finally  crossing  the  river 
to  the  Quartier  Maubert,  where  the  rag-pickers  and 
chiffonniers  carry  the  offscourings  of  the  city.  Here  he 
bolted  into  a  building  ;  I  waited  outside— he  never  came 
out.  By  going  up  four  flights  of  stairs  and  walking 
down  four  other  flights,  there  was  another  exit  on  to  a 
little  alley,  and  I,  one  of  the  oldest  detectives  on  the 
force,  never  knew  it,"  says  Jolly  sadly. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  91 

"  And  afterward  ?  "  cuts  in  Maurice,  who  has  no  time 
for  sentimental  police  officers. 

"  Afterward  I  sought  for  that  scoundrel  Hermann  in 
vain.  The  streets  in  that  quarter  are  badly  lighted. 
Finally  I  recrossed  the  river,  took  an  omnibus,  and  came 
here." 

"  Very  well,  come  out  with  me  once  more,"  remarks 
de  Verney.  He  calls  a  cab,  and  they  drive  straight  to 
the  Rue  de  Maubeuge.  Here  the  officer  on  watch  re- 
ports nothing  has  happened.  Jolly  gets  the  keys  from  the 
concierge,  and  Maurice  and  he  carefully  examine  Her- 
mann's apartments  again.  They  are  generally  as  they 
were  in  the  morning,  with  these  exceptions  :  Maurice 
finds  a  tiny  piece  of  half-charred  cigarette  paper  on  the 
hearth.  It  is  hardly  larger  than  a  sixpence,  but  has 
a  fragment  of  a  written  word  upon  it.  As  he  descries 
this,  he  is  sure  the  German  has  read  and  destroyed  the 
words  that  completed  the  cipher. 

He  looks  at  the  laboratory  ;  the  only  change  he  can 
note  is  that  the  carbonic-acid  gas  apparatus  has  gone  also. 

"  Give  me  as  near  as  you  can  the  size  and  shape  of 
the  bundle  Hermann  carried,"  he  demands  from  Jolly  ; 
and,  on  receiving  his  answer,  is  satisfied  that  the  German 
has  carried  this  away  with  him. 

A  moment  after,  they  turn  to  leave  the  rooms,  and 
Maurice  remarks  :  "  Your  friend  Hermann  has  left  these 
apartments  to  be  away  some  days." 

"  How  do  you  guess  that  ?  "  the  man  returns  in  some 
surprise. 

"  Well,  the  Germans  are  a  cleanly  race.  Monsieur 
Hermann  has  taken  his  tooth-brush  with  him.  It  was  in 
his  bed-room  this  morning  ;  it  has  gone  now  !  " 

As  the  two  go  down  the  stairs  together,  de  Verney 
suddenly  turns  to  Jolly  and  asks  if  he  can  give  him  the 
name  and  address  of  a  smart  judge  of  the  Tribunal  de 
Police  Correctional. 


92 


THAT    FRENCHMAN 


"  Certainly,"  replies  that  officer,  who  is  of  course 
very  well  acquainted  with  the  police-courts  of  the  city, 
"Monsieur  Theophile  Mussan,  37  Boulevard  de  Stras- 
bourg." 

This  is  but  a  short  distance  from  where  they  now  are. 
Maurice  orders  the  hack  man  to  drive  there,  and  in  five 
minutes  he  is  at  Monsieur  Mussan's,  fortunately  catching 
that  gentleman  at  home. 

After  a  few  minutes'  private  conversation  with  that 
officer  of  justice,  during  which  Maurice  is  compelled  to 
show  his  authority  from  Monsieur  Claude,  and,  finally, 
that  from  the  Emperor  direct ;  Mussan,  his  eyes  very 
wide  open,  sends  hurriedly  for  his  clerk,  makes  out  a 
warrant,  gives  it  to  de  Verney,  and  says  :  "  To-morrow 
everything  shall  be  as  you  order  at  ten  o'clock.  It  is  not 
precisely  legal,  but  under  these  extraordinary  circum- 
stances I  will  do  it.  Good-evening  !  " 

"  Au  revoir — much  obliged  !  "  returns  de  Verney,  as 
he  drives  off,  leaving  the  judge  with  an  astounded  look 
on  his  face,  which  is  reflected  by  Monsieur  Jolly,  who 
can  see  no  reason  for  this  step. 

Ordering  Jolly  to  report  in  the  morning,  Maurice  dis- 
misses him,  strides  up  to  his  apartment,  and  is  quite 
relieved  to  find  Microbe,  who  is  once  more  like  a  human 
being,  awaiting  him. 

"I  had  time  to  do  all  you  requested,  Monsieur  de 
Verney.  It  is  now  a  quarter  to  eight.  I  was  here  at 
half-past  seven.  Notwithstanding,  I  found  time  to  drop 
in  to  Levy's  and  order  my  new  Mabille  suit." 

"Curse  your  Mabille  suit,"  mutters  Maurice.  "You 
are  the  only  one  who  has  any  brains  to  speak  of  in  your 
Rue  de  Jerusalem  gang.  Listen  to  me  !  "  And  he  tells 
Microbe  everything. 

At  this,  the  whole  recital,  the  young  man  looks  very 
serious,  and  whistles  contemplatively.  Then  he  says  sud- 
denly :  "  You  have  told  me  everything  ? " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  93 

"  All  but  one  point." 

"Ah  !" 

"  But  of  that  I  shall  inform  you  before  you  leave  here. 
Tell  me  what  you  think  !  " 

"Well,  first,  I  think  that  the  German,  who  has  dis- 
appeared, is  to  do  the  killing,"  remarks  Microbe. 

"Killing?" 

"  Yes,  KILLING  !  unless  they  are  crazy.  They  could 
never  get  the  Prince  out  of  France." 

"  I'm  glad  you  agree  with  my  idea  that  the  crime  they 
meditate  is  assassination,  not  kidnapping,"  says  Maurice 
shortly.  "  It  makes  me  feel  that  I  am  justified  in  any 
deception  I  may  practice." 

"Ah!  on  Mademoiselle  Louise?  "  mutters  Microbe, 
with  a  little  laugh. 

"  Yes  !  "  says  de  Verney  sternly.  "  Have  you  any- 
thing else  to  suggest  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  imagine  they  are  going  to  use  some  highly 
scientific  means." 

"  Why  ? " 

"Well,  it's  a  kind  of  instinct." 

"  A  woman's  guess  ;  but  women  as  often  hit  it  as  men. 
This  man  Hermann  is  a  chemist.  That  reminds  me  of 
something."  With  this  Maurice  writes  a  few  lines  to  a 
scientific  friend  of  his,  gives  it  to  Francois  to  deliver, 
telling  him  to  keep  the  cab  waiting  at  the  door  for 
him. 

Having  done  this,  he  turns  to  Microbe,  who  has  been 
in  a  state  of  contemplation,  and  astonishes  him.  He 
smiles  upon  his  assistant  and  remarks  :  "  By  the  bye, 
you've  not  got  much  chance  of  dancing  at  the  Mabille 
next  Sunday  night." 

"  Oh  !  an  excellent  one.  Levy  will  have  my  clothes 
ready  when  the  cash  is  down,  if  he  and  his  tailor  die 
making  them  !  "  returns  Monsieur  Microbe  confidently. 
"  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  gave  him  the  order  to-night  ?  " 


94 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 


"  The  clothes  may  be  ready,  but  you  won't,"  says 
Maurice  with  a  smile.  Then  he  goes  on  very  sternly  : 
"  Microbe,  you've  got  to  go  to  jail !  " 

"  Incredible  !     Who'll  put  me  there  ?  " 

"  I  ! " 

"  You  !     YOU  !     For  what  ?  " 

"  For  insulting  Mademoiselle  Louise  !  " 

"  Le  diable  !  "  gasps  the  ettve  of  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem, 
and  for  a  moment  is  overcome  ;  then  he  staggers  up,  gets 
before  Maurice,  and,  bowing  humbly,  says  :  "  You  wish 
my  head  for  an  offering  to  gain  the  heart  of  Made- 
moiselle Louise,  so  she  will  confide  in  you  ?  Eh  ?  " 

"  Precisely  !  Through  losing  sight  of  this  man  Her- 
mann, I've  lost  one  end  of  this  thread.  I'm  going  to 
keep  a  very  close  hold  upon  the  other  !  "  And,  as  he  says 
this,  de  Verney's  jaws  come  together  with  a  snap,  and  a 
fire  comes  into  his  eyes  that  wonderfully  impresses  Mon- 
sieur Microbe. 

He  gives  a  prolonged  whistle,  then  murmurs  :  "  Great 
man  !  shall  I  go  to  jail  now  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  says  Maurice,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  want 
you  too  much  outside.  There  is  the  warrant  for  your 
arrest."  Maurice  tosses  him  a  paper  and  goes  on  :  "  You 
will  report  for  trial  to-morrow  to  Monsieur  Theophile 
Mussan." 

"  Great  heavens  !  "  gasps  Microbe.  "  Theophile 
Mussan  is  the  most  severe  judge  in  Paris  !  " 

"  Certainly.     He's  going  to  give  you  three  months." 

"  Three  months  !  Man  Dieu  !  Three  months  !  "  This 
is  almost  a  shriek.  Then  he  suddenly  becomes  wounded, 
and  mutters  :  "  And  you  think  you  can  conduct  this 
investigation  without  me,  Monsieur  de  Verney  ?" 

"  Of  course  not.  For  the  next  three  days  you  are  part 
of  my  body — part  of  my  brain,"  returns  Maurice.  "At 
10  A.  M.  you  will  be  tried  ;  at  10:15  you  will  be  sentenced  ; 
at  10:30  you  will  be  free.  You  will  walk  in  the  front 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  95 

door  of  Mazas  and  out  of  the  back.  I  have  just 
arranged  this  matter  with  Monsieur  Theophile  Mussan." 

"  You're  sure  there  is  no  mistake  about  the  back  door 
of  Mazas  ? "  inquires  Microbe. 

"Quite." 

"  Thank  you  !  "  Then  he  suddenly  cries  :  "  My 
heavens  !  what  a  risk  you  take,  Monsieur  de  Verney ! 
Hermann  got  instructions  to-day.  They  may  be  the  final 
ones — if  they  intend  to  kill  that  boy  to-morrow  !  " 

"  That  is  what  I  go  to  find  out  to-night,"  mutters 
Maurice. 

"Where?" 

"  At  the  other  end  of  the  string  !  " 

"  Ah  !  at  Mademoiselle  Louise's  ?  " 

"  Yes — won't  you  come  with  me  ? " 

"  No,  thank  you  !  "  Microbe's  tone  is  so  melancholy 
that  Maurice  bursts  into  a  laugh,  then  says  :  "  No,  you 
had  better  not  be  seen  with  me  by  your  friend  Lieber  ; 
besides,  I've  other  work  for  you.  Go  and  find  out  all 
about  Mademoiselle  Rose,  the  flower-girl  of  the  Varietes 
Theatre" 

"  Oh  !  I  know  all  about  Rose  now,"  returns  Microbe. 
"  She's  an  old  friend." 

"  Then  pump  her  about  the  two  yellow  letters  Hermann 
left  at  the  flower  kiosk — about  her  new  master,  Auguste 
Lieber ;  pump  her  dry  !  "  whispers  Maurice,  for  they  have 
now  come  down-stairs  and  are  standing  beside  the  cab. 

A  moment  after  he  mutters,  half  to  himself  :  "  I  wish  I 
could  pump  the  other  one." 

u  Get  Louise's  heart — pump  that  !  "  whispers  Microbe 
in  his  ear. 

"  If  she  has  one,"  returns  Maurice,  looking  at  his 
watch. 

It  is  eight  o'clock. 

He  says  to  the  driver  :  "  Rue  des  Vignes,  near  the 
Barriere  de  Passy!  I'll  show  you  the  house! — double 


96  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

speed,  double  pourboire! "  jumps  in  the  hack,  and  is 
whirled  away,  muttering  to  himself  :  "  How  shall  I  dis- 
cover if  to-morrow  is  to  be  the  end  ? "  then  groans,  "  It's 
almost  an  impossible  problem  !  "  A  moment  after  he  says, 
more  hopefully  :  "  Is  it  ?  A  woman's  heart  is  an  instru- 
ment with  more  strings  than  one.  If  it  won't  sing  a  tenor 
tune,  it'll  play  a  bass.  Let  me  find  the  string,  and  I'll 
play  a  diable  of  a  tune  !  " 

To  find  the  string  seems  to  be  the  trouble,  for  de 
Verney  meditates  upon  this  portion  of  his  project  till  they 
get  to  the  Rue  des  Vignes.  Here  he  shows  his  driver  the 
little  house  on  the  side  street,  that  in  the  moonlight,  sur- 
rounded by  shrubs  and  flowers,  looks  too  peaceful  and 
happy  a  home  to  be  the  birthplace  of  conspiracy  for  the 
assassination  of  any  one — least  of  all,  an  innocent  child. 

Alighting  quietly,  he  is  rejoiced  to  see  that  its  occupants 
have  not  gone  to  bed,  for  there  is  a  light  in  the  parlor, 
and  through  its  open  windows,  as  he  walks  up  the  path, 
comes  into  the  quiet  night  air  a  flood  of  melody  from  the 
piano  he  has  noticed  in  the  afternoon.  He  pauses  and 
listens,  and  a  moment  after  gets  a  start.  Something  rubs 
against  his  leg.  Looking  down  he  sees  Lamia,  the  cat, 
purring  at  his  feet  and  enjoying  the  music.  A  moment 
after,  Louise's  voice  mingles  with  the  tones  of  the  instru- 
ment, and  he  starts  with  astonishment,  for  she  is  singing, 
with  taste,  expression,  power,  and  brilliant  execution,  an 
aria  that  taxes  the  powers  of  even  a  prima-donna — the 
"  Brindisi,"  from  Lucretia  Borgia. 

He  listens  to  this  in  astounded  silence,  and  thinks  : 
"  This  makes  me  feel  like  Lucretia  waiting  behind  the 
curtain.  I  wonder  if  I've  got  the  coffins  ready  yet  ;  " 
then  mutters  :  "  A  rather  curious  education  for  a  flower- 
girl.  If  her  voice  had  a  little  more  sympathy,  she'd  be  a 
rare  find  for  a  manager."  With  this  he  strides  up  to  the 
door  and  knocks. 

Louise  has  by  this  time  begun  a  little  German  love- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 


97 


song,  which  stops  as  his  knock  begins.  There  is  an  ex- 
clamation of  astonishment  from  the  old  German  woman, 
who  has  evidently  been  one  of  the  listeners,  and  a  snort 
of  disgust  in  the  tones  of  the  gigantic  Alsacian. 

This  gentleman  now  throws  open  the  door  with  some 
violence  ;  he  evidently  does  not  like  visitors.  His  face 
has  perhaps  some  anniety  in  it  as  he  looks  out,  holding  a 
lamp  in  his  hand. 

As  soon  as  he  sees  who  his  visitor  is,  anxiety  becomes 
rage.  He  says  :  "  Ha  !  my  aristocrat " — grinding  the 
words  to  powder  between  his  teeth  as  they  issue  from  his 
mouth — "  you  do  not  seem  to  understand  me !  You 
were  bid  good-by  with  no  come  back  in  it.  You  gentle- 
men of  the  upper  classes  " — here  he  pulverizes  his  words 
again — "  seem  to  be  cursed  fools.  You  cannot  take  a  poor 
man's  hint.  Now,  do  you  see  that  arm  ?  That  arm  has 
thrown  to  the  earth  every  man  it  ever  got  hold  of  !  In 
Leipsic,  Heidelberg  and  Strasburg,  I  was  professor  of  ath- 
letics, and  I  felled  every  one  who  stood  up  against  me.  If 
you  don't  take  my  hint,  you  boulevard  beauty,  I'll  smash 
you  up  worse  than  I  did  my  poor  little  dandy  of  the 
Quartier  Latin." 

As  he  says  the  last  of  this,  Auguste  Lieber  places  his 
lamp  on  a  little  table  in  the  hall  in  order  to  pounce 
upon  and  make  mince-meat  of  Maurice. 

As  the  Alsacian  does  this,  de  Verney  remarks  quietly  : 
"  It  was  in  regard  to  that  man  I  took  the  liberty  of  coming 
here,  Monsieur  Lieber.  I  have  just  had  that  fellow  fol- 
lowed and  arrested  for  insulting  Miss  Louise  !  " 

"  Mein  Gott!"  mutters  the  Alsacian,  his  face  turning 
white. 

"  As  a  Parisian,  I  could  not  permit  a  young  lady  to  be 
so  insulted  without  seeing  the  scoundrel  punished.  Be- 
sides, if  free,  he  might  follow  her  again.  The  man's  name 
is  Ravel  Microbe.  You  will  have  to  appear  and  testify 
against  him 


98  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  In  a  court  of  justice  !  I  shall  be  cross-questioned  by 
a  lawyer  !  "cries  Louise,  leaving  the  piano  and  flying  out 
into  the  hall  with  a  white  face. 

While  Mr.  Lieber  mutters  savagely  but  tremulously  : 
"  Herr  Gott  Himmel  donner  wetter  /  We  shall  be  exam- 
ined by  the  police.  We  shall  be  questioned  by  a  judge. 
We  shall  have  to " 

"  To  do  nothing  of  the  kind  ! "  remarks  de  Verney, 
calmly.  "  I  came  here  this  evening  to  save  you  any  such 
trouble  ;  but,  with  your  permission,  I'll  sit  down."  And 
he  walks  into  the  parlor,  followed  by  the  flower-girl  and 
her  guardian,  and  confidently,  though  unasked,  takes  a 
seat. 

The  evident  terror  with  which  contact  with  the  police 
is  regarded  by  Louise  and  Auguste  is  perfectly  natural 
to  people  engaged  in  what  Maurice  guesses  them  to  be. 
The  usual  questions  of  a  court  of  justice  as  to  occupation, 
birth,  education,  previous  residence,  etc.,  would  be  all 
sources  of  peril  both  to  them  and  their  plot.  Maurice 
has  expected  this  terror,  and  hopes  to  get  a  good  deal 
closer  to  them  by  soothing  it,  removing  its  cause,  and 
playing  the  general  friend  of  the  family.  During  this 
the  cat,  who  has  come  in  ahead  of  the  chevalier,  has  en- 
sconced himself  upon  the  lap  of  the  old  German  woman, 
who  pays  but  little  attention  to  all  this,  dividing  her  time 
between  knitting  a  pair  of  coarse  woolen  stockings,  and 
caressing  the  beast  that  purrs  and  yawns,  and  licks  her 
wrinkled  face. 

De  Verney  now  continues  :  "  It  was  to  avoid  this 
very  annoyance  to  a  young  lady  like  Mademoiselle 
Louise — to  whom  the  publicity  of  appearing  as  a  witness 
in  a  court  of  justice,  especially  in  such  a  case,  where 
her  youth  and  beauty  might  attract  the  attention  and 
comments  of  the  press — that  I  intruded  upon  you  to- 
night !  " 

As  de  Verney  emphasizes  the  "  youth  and  beauty  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  99 

part  of  his  oration  by  a  glance  at  the  young  lady,  he  gets 
a  sensation.  He  had  not  particularly  noticed  her  cos- 
tume when  she  ran  out  into  the  hall,  the  lamp  burning 
but  dimly  ;  now  in  the  lighted  room  it  catches  his 
eye. 

Louise,  no  more  the  peasant-girl  of  the  afternoon,  is 
like  a  woman  of  the  world.  Her  dress,  though  but  a 
simple  white  muslin,  is  made  in  the  fashion  of  that  day, 
giving  a  glimpse  of  a  superb  pair  of  shoulders  and  round 
dimpled  arms,  very  white  and  fair  to  look  upon.  Her 
whole  figure  has  more  the  contours  of  a  graceful  woman 
than  of  an  undeveloped  girl.  Her  face,  with  its  anxious 
eyes — for  it  has  again  that  peculiar  expression  Maurice 
first  caught  upon  it — is  older  than  that  of  the  morning. 
De  Verney  is  now  sure  that  she  is  at  least  twenty- 
two. 

He  would  probably  give  more  time  to  the  study  before 
him,  did  not  Auguste,  who  has  been  standing  leaning 
surlily  against  the  door,  now  break  out  :  "  Well,  why 
don't  you  tell  us  what  you  are  going  to  do  for  this 
young  and  beautiful  lady,  Mister  Fine-Gentleman  ?  " 

Louise  raises  her  hand  to  Lieber  in  an  entreating 
way,  but  Maurice  astonishes  him  by  replying  quite 
sharply  :  "  I  have  done  something  !  " 

"  What  ? " 

This  is  a  little  cry  from  both  Louise  and  the  Alsa- 
tian. 

"  This !  Knowing  how  unpleasant  it  would  be  for 
you  to  appear  in  court,  I  have  made  arrangements  with 
the  judge  for  a  commissionaire  de  police  to  come  here 
to-night  and  take  your  testimony.  He  will  only  ask 
you  both  a  few  simple  questions,  as  my  evidence 
and  identification  of  the  rascal  were  perfect  and  com- 
plete !  " 

A  little  sigh  of  relief  from  Louise  and  a  kind  of  snort 
of  pleasure  from  the  Alsacian  come  to  Maurice's  ears. 


100  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

A  moment  after,  Lieber  says  :  "  Thanks,  mem  friend  !  " 
and  would  embrace  him  in  the  German  way. 

But  de  Verney  artfully  avoids  this  and  murmurs  :  "  It 
is  nothing.  I  had  no  trouble  whatever.  The  judge  dare 
not  offend  me  !  " 

At  this  the  girl  gives  him  a  smile  ;  then,  catching  his 
eye,  hers  seem  to  droop,  and  a  blush  steals  over  her 
cheeks,  that  have  been  pale.  Maurice,  who  is  close  to 
her  now,  notes  something  he  has  been  trying  to  discover  : 
Louise's  light,  half-curly  hair,  that  has  great  lumps  of 
red  color  in  it  under  the  lamp-light,  shows  no  traces  of 
darkening  near  the  roots,  and  has  too  fresh  a  luster  and 
glossy  an  appearance  to  owe  its  tint  to  anything  but 
nature.  The  chevalier  gives  almost  a  little  shudder. 
Those  peculiar  eyes,  joined  to  this  extraordinary  hair  in 
women,  denote  those  whose  smile  is  fatal,  and  whose  love 
is  death  !— the  eyes  and  hair  of  Cleopatra,  Semiramis, 
Lucretia  Borgia,  and  Delilah. 

He  would  now  no  more  trust  this  woman  than  he 
would  that  awful  serpent  of  Martinique,  whose  skin  is 
yellow  and  whose  eyes  are  flame,  and  who  twines  itself 
in  the  ripening  bananas  that  victims  may  mistake  it  for 
the  luscious  fruit  and,  plucking  it,  die.  He  could  never 
love  this  woman. 

Might  he  not  pity  her  and  save  her  ? 

He  gazes  at  her  ;  she  is  very  young.  A  little  pity  comes 
into  his  heart ;  he  feels  his  weakness. 

She  looks  up  once  more  into  his  eyes.  She  is  ravish- 
ingly  beautiful ;  he  pities  her  a  little  more. 

At  twenty-seven  Maurice  de  Verney  is  of  too  tender 
an  age  to  be  entirely  great. 


BOOK    II. 

THE    MASKED    WRESTLER   OF 
PARIS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
"  L'HOMME  MASQUE  WILL  MEET  ALL  COMERS." 

PERHAPS  her  eyes  would  speak  to  him  again,  did  not 
at  that  moment  the  sound  of  the  garden  gate  being 
opened  come  to  their  ears. 

Maurice  remarks  :  "  The  commissionaire  the  judge 
promised  me,"  and  goes  out  to  meet  the  man. 

His  supposition  is  correct.  Theophile  Mussan  has  ful- 
filled his  promise.  After  a  few  words  with  the  official, 
who  is  apparently  a  routine  individual,  Maurice  brings 
him  in,  introduces  him  to  Lieber  and  Louise,  and  sits 
down  with  some  interest  to  listen  to  their  answers  to  the 
questions  that  will  be  asked  them. 

The  commissionaire  wipes  his  spectacles,  takes  pen 
and  ink,  and,  the  usual  formalities  being  gone  through 
with,  selects  Louise  for  his  first  witness.  Perhaps  her 
beauty  attracts  him  ;  he  rubs  his  spectacles  several  times 
during  her  examination. 

She  gives  her  name  as  Louise  Marguerite  Tourney  ;  the 
place  of  her  birth  as  Paris,  stating  that  her  father  was  a 
Frenchman,  her  mother  was  German  ;  that  both  are 
dead. 


102  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

This  agrees  with  the  parentage  of  the  chemist  of  the 
Rue  de  Maubeuge,  whom  he  suspects  to  be  her  brother, 
Maurice  remembers. 

"  Your  age  ?  "  queries  the  officer. 

"  Twenty  !  "  comes  straight  at  him. 

If  she  has  told  the  truth,  the  chevalier  has  misjudged 
this  by  two  years — it  is  unimportant,  however. 

In  answer  to  the  question  whether  she  has  lived  all 
her  life  in  France,  Louise  states  that  "  she  had  remained 
in  Paris  till  fifteen,  then  her  mother  had  taken  her  to 
Germany,  her  father  having  died  when  she  was  a  child. 
She  had  lived  in  Heidelberg,  and  then  in  Strasbourg  since 
her  mother's  death  three  years  ago  ;  that  her  guardian, 
Auguste  Lieber,  had  brought  her  to  Paris  with  him  a 
month  ago.  In  Germany  she  had  been  a  teacher  in  a 
girl's  school — here  in  Paris  she  sells  flowers  at  the  Jar- 
din  d'Acclimatation.  Following  her  business  she  had 
often  been  annoyed  by  the  attentions  of  men  who  called 
themselves  gentlemen,  but  to-day  had  been  cruelly 
insulted  by  some  low  fellow.  Here  she  gives  a  decidedly 
unflattering  description  of  Monsieur  Microbe  and  his 
interview  with  her,  stating  that  her  guardian,  Auguste 
Lieber,  had  come  up  and  driven  the  scoundrel  away ; 
but  that  Monsieur  de  Verney,  driving  past,  had  seen  the 
occurrence  and,  had  he  got  to  her  in  time,  would,  she  has 
no  doubt,  have  protected  her.  While  saying  this  last,  the 
young  lady  favors  the  chevalier  with  several  grateful 
glances. 

"  That  will  be  sufficient,  I  think,"  says  the  commission- 
aire. "  I  never  met  a  young  woman  who  gave  her  evi- 
dence more  concisely  and  clearly." 

He  then  questions  the  Alsacian,  some  portions  of 
whose  evidence  astonish  Maurice. 

The  questions  and  answers  run  as  follows  : 

"  Your  name  ?  " 

"  Auguste  Lieber." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  103 

"Your  age?" 

"Thirty-one." 

"  Your  place  of  birth  ?  " 

"  Sarnbourg,  in  Alsace." 

"  Any  profession  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  professor  of  gymnastics — was  instructor 
at  Strasbourg  until  a  month  ago,"  says  Lieber,  quite 
proudly. 

"  And  since  that  time  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  in  Paris,  and  am  at  present  a  florist.  Have 
a  kiosk  on  the  Boulevard  Montmartre." 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  Paris  ?," 

At  this  question,  Maurice  opens  his  ears.  Monsieur 
Lieber  will  have  some  difficulty  in  answering  this,  he 
thinks. 

"  I  came  here,"  says  the  Alsacian,  "  to  meet  and  throw 
the  Masked  Wrestler  of  Parts  !  I  came  here  a  month 
ago.  Since  then,  he  has  not  been  advertised  to  appear. 
I  had  nothing  to  do — I  found  a  chance  to  purchase  this 
garden  and  business.  I  bought  them  to  give  my  mother 
an  opportunity  to  spend  her  spare  time  cultivating  roses, 
for  which  she  has  a  passion."  He  indicates  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand  the  old  woman  who  has  during  all  this 
been  quietly  knitting,  not  appearing  to  speak  French, 
though  sometimes  exchanging  a  word  or  two  in  the  Ger- 
man patois  of  Alsace  with  her  son. 

"  Then  you  came  here  to  encounter  the  masked  man, 
the  one  who  wrestles  at  the  salle  Le  Peletier  ?  "  asks  the 
commissionaire,  with  a  raise  of  his  eyebrows. 

"  Certainly  !  " 

"  Are  you  not  aware  that  he  has  vanquished  every- 
body?" remarks  the  officer,  who  is  a  Parisian,  and  has 
that  pride  which  believes  in  celebrities  local  over  all  other 
celebrities.  And  this  masked  man,  who  it  was  rumored 
was  at  least  a  duke,  and  who  had  tumbled  all  other 
wrestlers  over  like  men  of  wood,  was  the  latest  Parisian 


104 

divinity.     Therefore,  the  official  mutters,  "  And  you  dare 
to  meet  him  ?  " 

Catching  this,  Lieber  goes  into  a  great  rage.  "  Dare  to 
meet  him  !  "  he  cries.  "  I  who  have  thrown  every  man 
who  has  faced  me.  I,  Auguste  Lieber,  the  man  with  the 
iron  legs,  who  broke  the  collar-bone  of  the  Polish  cham- 
pion at  Warsaw,  and  left  the  Hungarian  giant  senseless 
in  the  ring  at  Vienna  ?  Dare  to  meet  him  !  "  he  screams. 
"  Why,  the  fellow  is  in  disguise  because  I  came  here.  HE 

DOES  NOT  DARE  TO  PUT  ON  HIS  MASK  !  " 

During  this  conversation,  after  a  start  of  astonishment, 
there  has  been  a  very  curious  look  upon  de  Verney's 
face.  Once  or  twice  he  has  nearly  laughed. 

"  And  that  is  the  reason  you  are  staying  here  ? " 

"  Just  so  !  I  am  now  waiting  for  that  man  who  dare 
not  show  his  face,  and  I  am  going  to  down  him  ! — DOWN 
HIM  !  "  cries  the  Alsacian,  in  a  savage  voice. 

"  After  that  you  will  leave  Paris  ? " 

"  Perhaps  no,  perhaps  yes.  The  flower  business  pays 
very  well." 

Then  the  questions  come  again  upon  the  crime  of 
Microbe. 

Auguste  gives  the  same  general  description  of  the  occur- 
rence as  Louise. 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary  for  either  you  or  your  guard- 
ian to  come  to  court  to-morrow,"  says  the  commission- 
aire to  Louise,  rising.  "  This  evidence  is  perfectly  con- 
vincing, and  Le  Chevalier  de  Verney  has  already  identified 
the  accused." 

Mr.  Lieber  b  so  pleased  that  his  interrogation  is  fin- 
ished that  he  returns  :  "  If  all  officials  were  as  considerate 
in  their  questions  as  you,  monsieur,  there  would  be  fewer 
criminals  in  the  world. "  And  after  this  rather  ambiguous 
remark,  takes  the  commissionaire  with  him  into  his  kitchen 
to  give  him  a  glass  of  beer.  The  old  woman,  followed  by 
the  cat,  goes  with  them  to  help  them,  and  Maurice, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 


I05 


having  declined  this  hospitality,  finds  himself  alone  with 
Louise. 

The  moment  this  happens,  the  girl's  eyes  give  -him  a 
glowing  glance,  then  droop  again. 

She  blushes  and  mutters  :  "  You — you  have  been  very 
kind  and  considerate  to  me,  Monsieur  de  Verney.  I 
should  have  dreaded  the  scandal  and  publicity  of  an  ex- 
amination in  court.  Thank  you — thank  you  !  "  Empha- 
sized by  another  flash  of  her  eyes,  and  a  fair  hand  out- 
stretched to  his,  what  man  could  fail  to  respond  ?  He 
presses  the  pretty  fingers  to  his  lips,  after  the  manner  of 
his  country,  and  returns  a  French  compliment,  "  For  you 
I  would  do  much  more." 

As  his  lips  touch  her  hand,  it  seems  to  tremble  in  his 
and  linger  for  one  moment — the  next,  is  suddenly  drawn 
away.  The  girl's  face  is  pale  ;  it's  Maurice  who  is  blush- 
ing now. 

He  turns  the  conversation  by  asking,  "  Your  guardian, 
Auguste  Lieber,  then  dares  to  meet  the  masked  wrestler? " 
— and  discovers  a  new  trait  in  the  young  lady  he  is 
studying. 

"  Dares  to  meet  him  ?  "  she  echoes  indignantly,  with  a 
flash  of  anger  in  her  face.  "  Dares  to  meet  him  ?  I 
should  despise  him  if  he  did  not.  I  love  strong  men,  and 
Auguste  is  strong  enough — for  anything  !  "  This  last 
is  said  proudly.  There  is  a  tender  look  in  her  eyes,  as  if 
Lieber's  physique  had  produced  some  occult  effect  upon 
her  mind.  How  much,  Maurice  cannot  now  determine,  as 
the  Alsatian,  after  taking  the  commissionaire  to  the 
door  and  bidding  him  good-night,  now  returns  to  the 
parlor. 

Throughout  this  whole  interview,  de  Verney  has  had 
one  leading  thought — that  is,  to  discover  whether  or  not 
these  people  mean  to  make  any  attempt  on  the  safety  or 
life  of  the  Prince  the  next  day.  He  now  imagines  he  has 
a  way  to  determine  this  point  and  remarks,  "  You  are 


106  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

both  musicians  ?  "  looking  at  the  piano  and  a  violoncello 
standing  near  it. 

"  I  sometimes  play  German  songs  upon  that  !  "  re- 
marks Auguste  ;  "  and  as  to  Louise " 

"  I  heard  her  voice  as  I  came  up  the  path  !  "  interrupts 
Maurice,  and,  turning  to  the  girl,  he  brings  a  flush  of 
pleasure  to  her  face  by  saying,  "  Would  you  and  your 
guardian  like  to  hear  Adelina  Patti  to-morrow  evening  ? " 

"  Oh-ah  ! "  This  is  an  expression  of  delight  from 
Louise  ;  but  Lieber  says  shortly,  "Go  to  the  opera  ? 
Every  dandy  would  be  ogling  the  flower-girl  of  the  Jar- 
din  d'Acclimatation.  I'd  have  to  trounce  a  dozen  fine 
gentlemen  to-morrow  night  instead  of  the  miserable  creve 
I  dragged  in  the  ditch  to-day  !  " 

"  In  the  amphitheatre  you  would  be  conspicuous," 
remarks  Maurice,  "  but  in  my  box  you  could  hear  the 
opera  and  be  unnoticed,  if  you  wish  to  be." 

"  Your  box  ?  To  hear  Patti  !  "  gasps  the  girl  in  a 
frenzy  of  delight. 

"  Certainly,  I  have  an  excellent  loge  de  premiere;  and 
for  to-morrow  evening  it  is  at  the  disposal  of  you  and 
your  guardian.  Mademoiselle  Patti  sings  in  Somnam- 
bula  !  " 

"You  will  accompan)^  us  ?"  asks  the  girl,  with  an 
eagerness  that  makes  Mr.  Lieber  scowl. 

"  By  no  means,"  returns  Maurice,  who  has  planned 
an  occupation  for  that  occasion  which  would  surprise 
both  his  listeners  if  they  but  guessed  it.  "  I  have  too 
much  regard  for  the  good  name  of  one  placed  as  you 
unfortunately  are.  I  may  look  at  you  from  the  orchestra, 
but  your  guardian  and  yourself  will  be  alone  to-morrow 
night — do  you  accept  ?  " 

He  waits  with  some  anxiety  for  their  reply.  If  they 
even  seriously  entertain  his  proposition,  he  imagines  they 
can  hardly  contemplate  the  consummation  of  such  a 
crime  in  the  morning  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  opera  in 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  107 

the  evening  ;  besides,  the  Prince  Imperial  dead,  no  matter 
for  what  cause,  there  would  be  no  opera  for  any  one  in 
Paris  to  listen  to  the  night  of  his  death. 

The  easy  method  in  which  these  conspirators  consider 
the  affair  relieves  him.  The  girl  looks  at  her  guardian 
and  says  :  "  I  think  I  could  manage  a  dress  that  would 
not  be  conspicuous  for  its  inappropriateness  !  " 

"  Devil  doubt  you  !  "  returns  the  Alsacian,  with  a  grin. 
"  You'd  be  sure  to  look  well  enough  !  "  He  gives  her  a 
chuck  under  the  chin,  and  says  with  a  plaintive  grimace, 
"  But  me " 

"  Why,  Auguste,  you  have  the  evening  suit  you  wore  at 
the  gymnasium  on  exhibition  nights.  It  looks  very  nice 
now,  and  Gretchen  can  sponge  it  up  to-morrow,"  cries 
Louise.  "  Say  yes,  quick,"  and  makes  a  little  moue  in  his 
face  that  is  half  entreaty,  half  caress. 

"  All  right  !  "  returns  Lieber.  "  We'll  say  done  ! 
You  can  leave  the  tickets  at  my  kiosk  !  "  and  he  gives 
de  Verney  the  address  of  the  place,  not  being  aware  that 
Maurice  is  very  well  acquainted  with  his  flower-stand 
already. 

With  this  the  Alsacian  calls  in  German  to  his  mother 
to  get  out  his  best  clothes,  and  goes  up-stairs  to  be  sure 
they  can  be  made  acceptable  for  grand  opera. 

Maurice  is  now  pretty  certain  that  to-morrow  is  not 
their  time  for  action.  A  moment  after  he  has  another 
chance  to  confirm  this.  The  girl  says  suddenly  :  *'  You 
are  connected  with  the  army,  Monsieur  de  Verney. 
There  is  to  be  a  review  of  the  Guards  to-morrow  at  the 
Terrain  de  Saint  James.  The  Emperor  will  be  there — 

will "  Here  she  hesitates  a  little  and  then  goes  on 

determinedly  :  "  Will  not  the  Prince  Imperial  be  there 
with  him  ?  " 

This  speech  sets  Maurice  to  thinking  in  a  hurry.  As 
aide-de-camp  to  the  general  commanding  Paris,  he  has  to 
be  at  that  review  himself,  and  has  orders  to  that  effect, 


108  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

though  to-day's  adventures  have  driven  military  duty  for 
the  present  out  of  his  head. 

These  people  are  watching  the  movements  of  the 
Prince  so  very  carefully,  they  have  thought  of  something 
that  had  not  before  occurred  to  him. 

He  considers  a  moment  and  then  says  :  "  The  Prince 
is  sure  to  be  there.  The  Emperor  loses  no  opportunity 
of  making  his  army  love  his  son  and  heir." 

Then  he  gives  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  is  now  sure  of  the 
Prince's  safety  for  another  day — one  day  more  in  which 
to  obtain  sufficient  proof  to  warrant  his  seizing  upon 
these  conspirators. 

"  Then  my  little  royal  patron  will  not  be  at  the  Jardin 
d'Acclimatation  to-morrow  ?  "  returns  Louise,  with  the 
suspicion  of  a  pout. 

"  Ah  !  You  are  anxious  for  the  Prince's  face  again — 
ma  petite,  you  are  jealous  of  the  army  ? "  laughs  de 
Verney,  giving  her  a  glance  to  indicate  that,  as  repre- 
sentative of  the  army,  he  is  also  jealous  of  the  Prince 
Imperial. 

Miss  Louise  understands  this  glance,  for  she  cries  : 
"  How  foolish  you  are  !  the  Prince  is  but  thirteen — 

"  And  I  but  twenty-seven.  We  are  both  boys,  and  I 
am  jealous  of  my  royal  rival — you  give  him  too  many 
smiles,  Louise  !  " 

This  is  said  in  a  half-brutal  and  quite  familiar  way — 
calling  the  girl  by  her  Christian  name — one  utterly  opposed 
to  Maurice's  usual  manner,  which  is  very  considerate  and 
respectful  to  all  women  ;  but  de  Verney  has  turned  the 
matter  over  in  his  mind,  and  has  concluded  from 
the  remark  that  she  liked  strong  men — men  who  con- 
quered everything  ;  that  she  is  one  of  those  women  who 
are  more  impressed  by  lions  than  lambs.  He  knows 
but  one  ground  will  appear  reasonable  for  his  continuing 
this  acquaintance,  and  building  up  an  intimacy  that  will 
enable  him  to  supervise  her  actions  for  the  next  few 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  log 

days — that  is,  that  he  loves  her — and  reasons  :  If  I  make 
an  attack  upon  the  affections  of  this  most  artful  woman, 
I  must  do  so  in  the  way  that'll  please  her  most.  If  she 
likes  the  brute,  I  can  play  the  brute  to  mademoiselle's 
satisfaction,  if  not  to  my  own. 

This  familiarity  does  not  seem  to  annoy  the  girl. 
She  looks  pleased,  then  laughs,  "  Jealous  —  already, 
Maurice  !  And  you  represent  the  army  ?  Under  what 
rank,  monsieur — lieutenant  ?  " 

"  Commandant !  Tenth  Chasseurs  d'Afrique,  and  aide- 
de-camp  to  the  general  commanding  Paris." 

"  A-ah  !  "  There  is  a  peculiar  tone  in  mademoiselle's 
voice,  and  she  returns,  "  Then  you  are  in  a  position  to  do 
me  a  favor  !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

After  a  moment's  thought,  she  replies.  "  Auguste's 
mother  wishes  to  visit  her  friends  in  Germany.  It  is  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  for  poor  people  like  us  to  give  the 
time  from  our  daily  work  necessary  to  obtain  a  passport. 
Could  you  obtain  one  for  Madame  Lieber  and — and  ser- 
vant to  visit  Germany  ?  I'll  give  you  the  written  de- 
scriptions." 

For  a  second  Maurice  hesitates,  but  before  Louise  can 
say  pleadingly,  though  archly,  the  "  please  "  that  is  on 
her  lips,  he  returns,  "  Certainly.  On  what  day  do  you 
wish  it  ?  " 

"  Thursday  will  be  early  enough,"  says  the  girl  lightly. 
"  I  can  depend  on  you  ? " 

"  Entirely.  A  passport  for  Germany  for  Madame 
Lieber " 

"  And  servant!  Don't  forget  the  SERVANT  !  Gretchen 
is  too  old  to  travel  alone." 

"  Shall  I  also  get  a  passport  for  the  cat  ? "  laughs  de 
Verney. 

"  No  ! "  cries  Louise,  with  a  burst  -of  merriment. 
"  Lamia  will  be  disconsolate  ;  but  Lamia  stays  at  home. " 


HO  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Gretchen  will  also  be  inconsolable,  but " 

He  gets  no  further,  for  there  comes  a  very  savage 
and  frightened  voice  from  up-stairs,  crying  "  Louise  ! 
LOUISE  !  " 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  the  girl  shouts  back  in  an 
angry  tone.  She  isn't  pleased  to  be  interrupted  at  this 
moment. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  my  cigarette  case  ?  "  is  the 
answer. 

This  is  a  very  commonplace  question,  but  the  effect  on 
the  girl  is  tremendous.  She  turns  ghastly  pale  and 
almost  staggers,  then  conquers  herself  by  a  great  effort 
and  says,  apologetically : 

"  You  needn't  be  astonished  at  my  fright,  Monsieur  de 
Verney.  My  guardian  is  a  domestic  tyrant,  and — and  I 
don't  like  to  be  scolded.  Excuse  me  !  "  With  this  she 
runs  up-stairs. 

Maurice  can  hear  them  whispering  in  an  angry  but 
frightened  altercation.  He  even  thinks  that  he  distin- 
guishes the  down-trodden  Louise  calling  the  "  domestic 
tyrant ""  Fool !  Idiot!  Beer-head  !"  though  he  is  not 
quite  sure. 

While  he  listens,  he  cogitates,  "  Why  are  both  Lieber 
and  the  flower-girl  so  agitated  at  the  disappearance  of  a 
cigarette  case  ?  Cigarette  cases  are  cheap  !  "  Here  he 
gives  a  start  of  joy.  He  remembers  that  Auguste  gave 
the  chemist  of  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge  a  cigarette  paper. 
This  paper  was  an  addition  to  his  cipher  letters  that 
rendered  them  intelligible.  What  if,  for  the  sake  of 
security,  the  Alsacian  had  only  given  enough  to  disclose 
to  Hermann  Margo  a  portion  of  his  instructions  ;  that  the 
balance  may  yet  be  given  ;  probably  immediately  before 
Hermann  is  to  make  use  of  them — perhaps  on  the 
very  day  they  intend  to  consummate  their  plot.  Does 
the  lost  cigarette  case  contain  the  final  additions  to  the 
cipher  letter  held  by  the  German  chemist  ?  If  he  could 


THAT  FRENCHMAN!  in 

but  find  them  and  read  them  by  aid  of  his  own  copy  of 
the  cipher  letters  ! 

These  thoughts  are  interrupted  by  a  cry  of  joy  up-stairs. 

Louise  comes  running  down  and  laughs,  "  He  had 
taken  off  his  every-day  coat  to  try  on  his  evening 
clothes.  He  felt  in  the  pocket  of  his  dress-coat  and,  of 
course,  did  not  find  his  cigarette  case  there — and  became 
frigh — angry  !  " 

A  moment  after,  Lieber  strolls  down  with  a  sheepish 
look  on  his  face  smoking  a  cigarette,  apparently  to  show 
why  he  wanted  his  case  in  such  a  hurry.  He  gazes 
rather  pointedly  at  the  clock,  which  indicates  the  hour  of 
ten,  and  mutters,  "  Gardeners  and  poor  people  get  up 
early,  and  go  to  bed  early  also  !  " 

At  this  pointed  hint,  de  Verney  rises  to  depart.  He 
bids  Louise  good-night,  saying,  "  I  shall  not  forget  the 
passport ' 

"  Nor  the  tickets  for  your  box  at  the  opera  also,  I  hope, 
Monsieur  Maurice/'  and,  coming  to  the  front  door  with 
him,  the  girl  holds  out  her  hand. 

"  Certainly  not,"  returns  de  Verney,  raising  the  hand  to 
his  lips,  and  emphasizing  his  words  with  a  pressure  upon 
the  girl's  digits. 

"  Au  revoir  !  I  wish  you  could  see  me  dressed  like  a 
lady  ;  I  wish  you  could  see  me  to-morrow  night  at  the 
opera."  This  last  is  almost  a  whisper,  though  Lieber,  as 
if  to  speed  the  parting  guest,  has  walked  half-way  down 
to  his  gate. 

"  Why,  Louise,  any  lady  might  envy  you  your  toilet 
now  ! "  whispers  Maurice  into  the  girl's  ear,  giving  her 
hand,  which  curiously  has  not  been  withdrawn,  another 
and  tighter  squeeze.  But  at  this  moment  he  catches  the 
gleam  in  her  dark  eyes  and  notes  the  peculiar  tint  in  her 
hair.  With  a  sudden  impulse  he  almost  starts  from  her, 
and  is  delighted  the  girl  doesn't  notice  it,  for  he  has 
trodden  upon  the  tail  of  the  cat  that  has  been  seated 


112  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

upon  the  step  gazing  romantically  at  the  moon,  and  per- 
haps awaiting  the  hour  of  some  midnight  rendezvous. 
The  unfortunate  Lamia  raises  such  a  yell  at  this  assault 
upon  his  tail  that  Lieber  turns  and  cries  :  "  Is  the  beast 
beginning  again  to-night  ?  "  and  the  old  woman,  opening 
a  small  dormer-window  up-stairs,  puts  out  her  night- 
capped  head  and  cries  in  German,  "  Mein  Gott !  who's 
killing  my  poor  cat,  my  Lamia  ?  " 

The  beast  gives  a  few  athletic  bounds,  and  scratches 
with  his  claws  into  the  vines  that  climb  over  the  rustic 
porch,  and  flies  to  his  beloved  mistress's  protection. 
Louise,  with  a  little  malicious  laugh,  kisses  her  hand  to 
Maurice  and  runs  up-stairs  also,  while  that  young  gentle- 
man strolls  down  the  path  to  Mr.  Lieber,  who  has  thrown 
away  his  cigarette  after  one  or  two  contemptuous  whiffs, 
and  produced  and  lighted  a  black,  generous-looking 
meerschaum  pipe  of  exaggerated  size,  and  odor  potent 
enough  to  destroy  the  perfume  of  the  rose-bushes  of  his 
garden. 

"  You  don't  find  smoking  injure  your  condition  or 
wind  ?  "  says  Maurice  casually. 

"  Pough  !     Not  a  bit !  " 

"  Nor  cigarettes  ?  " 

"  Pshaw  !  I  never  smoke  them— at  least,  rather  sel- 
dom," returns  the  Alsacian,  as  if  he  suddenly  remembered 
that  he  was  smoking  one  of  these  little  life-destroyers 
only  a  moment  before,  and  had  been  raising  the  house  to 
find  his  poison -carrier  within  the  last  five  minutes. 

"  I  presume  you  keep  in  pretty  fair  condition  ? " 

"  Yes — I  never  let  myself  grow  very  stale,"  remarks 
Auguste,  using  a  technical  term  ;  "  I  take  a  good  hour's 
exercise  every  morning.  You  see,  that  masked  wrestler 
might  by  accident  hear  that  I've  left  town  and  appear 
again.  I  want  to  be  ready  for  that  chap— they  say  he  is 
a  cursed  aristocrat !  "  and  Lieber  grinds  his  teeth  over 
the  last  word  in  a  very  savage  way. 


THAT  FRENCHMAN!  113 

"  Then  you  intend  to  meet  him  ? "  murmurs  Maurice, 
preparing  to  light  a  cigar. 

"  Just  let  him  give  me  the  chance,  that's  all  !  "  cries 
Auguste.  "  I  want  to  show  that  snob  who  wears  a  mask, 
because  he  is  ashamed  to  be  known  as  a  wrestler,  and 
thus  insults  every  professional  he  meets  in  the  arena, 
that  bread-and-sausage  and  beer  '11  make  as  good  muscle 
as  omelet  souffle,  pate  de  foie  gras,  and  champagne — curse 
him  !  " 

"  Ah  !  I  see  you  are  not  afraid  of  him,"  says  Maurice 
pleasantly. 

"  Afraid  of  HIM  !  "  mutters  Lieber,  and  a  moment  after 
says  proudly,  "Would  you  like  to  feel  of  my  arm?" 
— extending  an  enormous  limb  into  the  moonlight. 

"  I  should  be  delighted,"  returns  de  Verney,  and  he 
examines  the  mass  of  Alsacian  brawn  quite  critically, 
uttering  an  ejaculation  of  admiration. 

"  Now,  just  grip  my  iron  legs,"  says  Auguste,  pleased 
at  the  sensation  he  is  creating. 

This  Maurice  does,  so  carefully  and  so  thoroughly  that 
the  Alsacian  suddenly  says  :  "  You  must  know  something 
of  wrestling  yourself,  Monsieur  de  Verney  ?  You  have 
investigated  all  the  important  points  that  make  a  man 
formidable  at  the  Greco-Roman." 

"  Yes,  I'm  something  of  an  amateur,"  replies  Maurice, 
"but  let  me  get  at  your  lifting  power  "  ;  and  he  examines 
the  brawny  muscles  of  the  back  and  loins  of  the  athlete, 
several  times  testing  their  elasticity.  Then  he  remarks, 
"  For  a  man  of  your  weight  you  are  very  active." 

"  Ain't  I !  "  cries  out  Lieber  delighted  ;  "  I  could  do  up 
that  French  aristocrat  as  I  did  the  little  dandy  of  to-day. 
But  you,  de  Verney  " — he  has  become  quite  familiar  and 
friendly  now  to  Maurice — "  you  pick  out  the  weak  points 
of  a  man  as  well  as  his  good  ones.  I  soon  guessed  that 
when  you  were  putting  your  hands  over  me.  You  know 
a  few  wrinkles  in  wrestling.  Eh,  my  boy  ? " 
8 


ii4  THAT  FRENCHMAN! 

"  Possibly,"  says  Maurice  meditatively  ;  "  I  hardly  think 
you  could  jump  over  that  fence  now.  Could  you  ?  " 

"  Look  !  "  With  this  the  Alsacian  gives  a  tremendous 
bound  and  goes  over  into  the  street,  but  just  touches  the 
palings,  whereupon  Maurice  gives  a  prolonged  and  medi- 
tative whistle. 

"That  was  a  terrific  jump  you  picked  out  for  me," 
says  Auguste,  grinning.  "Try  it  yourself." 

"  No,  thank  you.  I'm  hardly  up  to  your  form,  Mon- 
sieur Lieber,"  returned  de  Verney.  "  I'll  walk  out  of 
the  gate,"  which  he  does,  and  bids  his  host  good-by  on 
the  sidewalk  after  a  few  parting  words. 

As  Auguste  goes  up  the  walk  to  his  house,  Maurice 
looks  after  him,  and  makes  this  curious  remark  to  him- 
self :  "  I  BELIEVE  I  COULD  DO  THE  TRI^K  SURE,  BUT 
NOT  VERY  EASILY." 

Here  the  cab-driver,  whom  he  has  kept  waiting,  cuts 
in  :  "  Double  pourboire  double  speed,  Monsieur  de  Ver- 
ney ? " 

Maurice  glances  at  his  watch — it  is  a  quarter  past  ten — 
then  says  shortly  :  "  Home  by  twenty  minutes  to  eleven, 
and  twenty  francs  !  " 

He  springs  in,  and  the  twenty  francs  make  the  four 
miles  take  but  twenty  minutes. 

While  he  has  driven  rapidly  he  has  thought  rapidly, 
and  settled  these  things  in  his  mind  : 

"  What  evidence  have  I  on  which  to  cause  the  arrest 
of  these  people  now?  The  copy  of  some  letters,  that 
may  mean  anything  until  I  get  the  rest  of  the  cipher. 
The  curious  actions  of  a  chemist,  a  profession  that  num- 
bers a  good  many  cranks  in  its  ranks,  and  the  flirtation  of 
a  pretty  flower-girl  with  a  Prince.  I  must  have  more. 
The  boy  is  safe  for  to-morrow  ;  Auguste  Lieber  has  kept 
some  part  of  the  cipher  back — it  is  not  yet  delivered. 
That  part  I  must  get  without  frightening  him.  If  he 
doesn't  put  it  out  of  his  hands  to-morrow  morning,  I'll 


THAT  FRENCHMAN!  115 

find  it  at  his  house  or  on  his  person.  His  house  I'll 
search  to-morrow  afternoon  ;  if  not  there,  he  carries  it 
with  him,  and  I'll  have  a  try  for  it,  God  willing,  to-mor- 
row night." 

By  this  time  he  is  at  the  Rue  d'Hautville,  and,  telling 
the  cab  to  wait,  he  bolts  up-stairs.  Here  he  finds  Monsieur 
Microbe  waiting  for  him.  That  young  man  would  burst 
into  his  tale  of  what  he  has  learned  from  Miss  Rose  at  the 
Varies,  but  Maurice  cries  "Wait !  "sits  hurriedly  down, 
and  writes  six  lines  ;  then  seals  the  letter  and  says  : 
"  Microbe,  take  the  cab  at  the  door  and  drive  as  fast  as 
you  can  to  the  salle  in  the  Rue  le  Peletier." 

«  Ah  !  Les  Arenes  !  " 

"Yes." 

"  That's  where  the  masked " 

"  Take  this  to  the  manager,"  interrupts  Maurice, 
sternly.  "  The  performance  is  not  yet  out.  Give  it  to 
him  in  person — understand  me — in  person." 

"  And  if  he  should  not  be  there  ? " 

"  Follow  him  till  you  find  him,  and  don't  let  me  see 
you  till  you  have  delivered  that  letter." 

"  All  right  !  "  cries  Microbe,  and  bolts  off  on  his 
errand. 

In  five  minutes  he  is  at  Les  Arenes ',  where  an  exhibition 
of  boxing,  fencing,  and  such  sports  is  being  given  that 
evening  to  a  half-filled  house.  He  fortunately  finds  the 
manager  in  and  gives  him  the  note,  then  walks  to  the  Cafe 
le  Peletier  near  by  and  gets  a  glass  of  wine.  He  takes 
a  little  time  over  this,  for  wine  is  high  in  a  first-class  cafe, 
and  Monsieur  Microbe  likes  to  get  the  worth  of  his  money 
in  elbowing  the  fashionable  gentlemen  about  him. 

In  the  midst  of  this  he  hears  a  yell  from  the  street  that 
makes  him  leave  his  wine  unfinished.  He  comes  quickly 
out  ;  there  is  now  quite  a  crowd  in  front  of  Les  Arenes, 
who  are  uttering  cries  of  excitement  and  joy.  The  lost 
is  found  !  The  wonder  and  pride  of  Paris  is  to  be  seen 


u6  THAT  FRENCHMAN! 

again  !  The  management  are  putting  up  a  placard 
stating  that  to-morrow  evening,  April  22d,  "L'HOMME 
MASQUE  WILL  MEET  ALL  COMERS  !  " 

This  is  enough  for  Microbe.  He  bolts  off  with  his 
news,  and,  getting  to  the  Rue  d'Hautville,  comes  in  on 
Maurice,  who  is  quietly  smoking,  and  cries  :  "  L'homme 
Masque  to-morrow  night  !  Do  you  think  there  is  any 
chance  you  will  have  anything  for  me  to  do  to-morrow 
night  ? " 

u  Lots  !  "  says  Maurice,  stoutly. 

u  A-ah  !  "     This  is  a  sigh  of  dejection  from  Microbe. 

"  But  still,"  laughs  de  Verney,  "  you  may  be  able  to 
see  the  masked  wrestler. " 

"  Then  can  I  go  out  and  buy  a  ticket  now  ?  "  This  is 
said  very  pleadingly  by  the  young  detective. 

"  Not  just  at  present.  Tell  me  what  you  learned  from 
Rose  at  the  Varietes  !  " 

"  Oh  !  she  knows  very  little,"  says  Microbe  ;  "  Lieber 
bought  the  shop  and  garden  from  a  florist  named  Chabot, 
who  has  gone  to  America.  He  has  attended  to  business 
regularly.  I  pumped  her  and  found  that  she  had  no- 
ticed the  German  who  bought  the  roses  and  left  the  let- 
ters. They  were  for  some  one  living  with  Auguste  Lieber. 
He  brought  one  in  the  morning  and,  an  hour  afterward, 
came  to  get  it  back  again,  but  Mr.  Lieber  had  already 
taken  it.  When  he  found  he  could  not  recover  his  first 
letter  he  left  a  second  one,  which  Lieber  also  carried 
away." 

"  But  how  about  Hermann's  getting  three  white  roses 
for  three  successive  days,  and  to-day  receiving  a  red, 
indicating  a  message  was  to  be  given  him  ?  "  asks  de 
Verney. 

"  Oh  !  on  the  days  he  bought  a  white  rose-bud,  Mr. 
Lieber  had  only  made  up  white  roses  into  boutonnieres.  He 
could  get  no  other  at  that  kiosk.  To-day,  however,  Mr. 
Lieber  had  only  had  red  boutonnieres  for  sale,  so  he  got  a 


THAT  FRENCHMAN!  117 

red  one.  How  very  natural  !  The  girl  who  sold  'em 
never  dropped  to  the  game." 

"  How  very  cunning  !  "  cries  Maurice.  "  That  athlete 
is  not  the  brain  of  this  affair  ;  it's  Louise."  Then  he 
meditates,  "  I  wonder  if  she'll  beat  me  ?  " 

A  moment  after,  Mr.  Microbe  suggests,  "  If  monsieur 
would  not  want  me  for  a  few  minutes,  I'd  like  to  go  out 
and  buy  a  ticket  for  the  gallery  at  the  salle  Les  Arenes 
for  to-morrow  night.  They'll  be  all  gone  soon." 

"  No  need  of  that.  I  will  take  care  you  get  in.  I 
shall  have  need  of  you  there  !  "  mutters  Maurice. 

"  I  do  not  understand  !  " 

"  Of  course  not ;  but " — here  de  Verney's  look  and 
voice  become  commanding  and  intense — "  as  you  are  a 
living  man,  swear  to  me  that  you'll  reveal  to  no  other 
living  being  what  I  tell  you  to-night  !  " 

"  I — monsieur  !  "  utters  Microbe,  a  little  frightened, 
for  the  chevalier's  manner  is  very  impressive. 

"  For  the  purposes  of  this  business,  I  am  compelled  to 
make  a  revelation  to  you — SWEAR,  AS  YOU  ARE  A  MAN, 

TO  KEEP  MY  SECRET  !  " 

"  I — I  swear  !  "  cries  Microbe,  almost  in  desperation  ; 
for  Maurice  has  strode  up  to  him  and  seized  him  by 
the  arm.  Then  he  shrieks,  "  Great  Lord,  how  strong  you 
are  !  You  are  crushing  the  bone  !  "  This  last  is  a  writh- 
ing yell. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  forgot,"  mutters  de  Verney. 
"But  now  I  must  tell  you  something." 

He  whispers  in  Microbe's  ear. 

Then  Microbe  turns  very  pale,  and,  after  gasping  out 
in  a  dazed,  unbelieving  sort  of  way,  "  You  ? — Impossi- 
ble !  "  sinks  into  a  chair. 

A  moment  after  the  chevalier  goes  quietly  on,  and 
explains  to  him  the  precise  part  he  wishes  his  assistant 
to  take  in  to-morrow's  doings. 

But  during  all  this  the  little  fellow's  eyes  regard  him 


!l8  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

with  an  amazed  admiration.  Once,  when  the  cheva- 
lier's back  is  turned,  he  goes  slyly  up  to  him  and  feels 
reverentially  his  leg.  And,  Maurice  looking  over  his 
shoulder  at  him,  he  mutters  very  humbly,  "  I — I  beg  your 
pardon,  but  I — I  could  not  believe  my  ears." 

"  Then  believe  my  legs,"  says  de  Verney,  with  a  smile. 

"  Ah,  that  I  do  !  No  one  could  doubt  them.  Good 
Lord  !  They're  hard  as  a  jimmy  and  as  elastic  as  bur- 
glars' saws  ! "  Then  Microbe  gives  a  sudden  laugh  and 
cries,  "  Give  Lieber  one  good  one  for  me,  please — one 
good  one  for  my  Mabille  suit !  " 

"  I'll  consider  your  request,"  says  Maurice  ;  "and  now 
good-night !  Don't  forget  you  are  to  be  tried  and  con- 
victed to-morrow  morning  at  ten.  Report  to  me  here  at 
eleven  !  "  and  so  dismisses  Microbe. 

That  young  man  goes  down  the  stairs  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  both  dazed  and  stunned.  But,  getting  out 
into  the  street,  the  fresh  air  seems  to  revive  him  ;  his 
Gallic  spirits  return  to  him  ;  he  looks  up  at  the  windows 
of  de  Verney,  gives  a  long  whistle,  and  chuckles,  u  Isn't 
he  a  devil  of  a  fellow  !  " 

With  this  he  skips  along  to  the  Rue  le  Peletier,  and 
finds  the  crowd  there  much  larger  ;  for  the  manager  of 
the  Arenes,  as  soon  as  he  has  glanced  over  the  note 
delivered  by  Monsieur  Microbe,  has  cried  out  joyously, 
"  Our  Patti  has  come  again — for  nothing  !  "  For  it 
means  to  him  about  the  same  thing  as  if  that  queen  of 
song  had  offered  her  services  to  the  manager  of  Les 
Italiens  gratis  and  without  charge — his  profit  will  be 
equally  magnificent. 

So  he  sends  his  messengers  everywhere  with  the  bills. 
Paris  is  soon  placarded  ;  for  a  stock  of  posters  of  this 
craze  of  the  day  is  always  kept  on  hand  ;  his  eccentric 
announcements  being  sudden  and  unexpected.  Several 
of  these  being  immediately  clapped  up  in  front  of  the 
house,  the  audience  coming  out  from  the  performance 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  Iig 

catch  sight  of  them,  give  a  yell  of  excitement,  turn  round 
to  the  ticket-office,  fall  into  line,  and  man  and  boy  buy 
seats  for  the  sight  they  love  so  well. 

A  moment  after  the  crowd  is  swelled  by  the  swallow- 
tailed  gentry,  the  news  having  got  to  the  clubs  and  cafes  ; 
among  them  young  Higgins,  who  flies  out  of  that  room 
in  the  Cafe  le  Peletier,  so  much  patronized  by  trans- 
atlantic visitors  that  the  waiters  nick-name  it  the  Cafe 
Americain. 

He  stands  shivering  in  the  line  with  no  overcoat  on 
for  over  two  hours  before  he  gets  to  the  box-office  and 
procures  his  logej  but  goes  away  happy  in  his  purchase, 
for  in  the  street  he  is  offered  double  his  money  for  it ; 
though  he  has  to  almost  fight  his  way  out  ;  for  by  this 
time  the  crowd  has  changed  into  a  mob. 

And  now,  the  opera  being  out,  carriage  after  carriage 
leaves  its  portals,  and  comes  bowling  along  for  the  Arenes ; 
for  the  belles  of  the  Faubourgs  St.  Honore  and  Saint 
Germain  know  that  their  physical  idol,  that  tremendous 
animal  whose  lithe  beauties  bring  spasms  of  delight  and 
love  to  their  beating  hearts,  will  again  make  them  crazy 
with  one  night  of  wild,  delirious,  excited  bliss. 

Their  carriages  jostle  with  those  of  the  Qn artier  Breda, 
and  while  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Merrincourt  cries  hys- 
terically, with  tears  of  excited  joy  in  her  eyes,  to  her 
friend,  the  Baroness  de  Brissac,  "  Thank  heaven  !  we're 
sure  of  our  seats  !  I  shall  see  him  again  !  Look  !  The 
count  has  just  succeeded  in  buying  a  loge  for  a  hundred 
louts;"  the  English  cocotte  "  Skittles  "  howls  out  from 
her  coupe,  "  'Arry,  put  up  my  diamonds  ;  I'll  'ave  another 
look  at  'im  if  I  go  without  my  breakfast  !  " 

And  so  the  Parisian  world  of  that  epoch,  in  which  pleas- 
ure was  its  god  and  excitement  its  heaven,  surges  and 
roars  around  the  salle  Les  Arenes,  for  its  lost  love  has 
come  back  to  it  once  more. 

"  L'HOMME  MASQUE  WILL  MEET  ALL  COMERS  ! " 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  BEAR'S  NEST  IN  THE  BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE. 

THE  next  morning  at  six  de  Verney  is  called  by  Fran- 
gois,  and  goes  through  about  the  same  peculiar  exercises 
as  he  did  the  day  before,  save  that  he  doubles  their 
amount  and  tests  each  and  every  muscle  of  his  wondrous 
body  as  to  both  its  strength  and  elasticity.  Noting  these 
performances,  his  servant,  who  has  seen  the  placards 
announcing  the  appearance  of  Lhomme  Masque,  remarks, 
"  One  would  think  from  your  care,  my  master,  that  you 
had  thoughts  of  meeting  this  masked  fellow  yourself." 

"  Pish  !  "  says  Maurice,  rather  impatiently. 

"Why  not  give  him  a  try,  sir? — I'd  like  to  see  you, 
I  believe  you  could  throw  him  !  "  continues  Frangois. 
anxious  for  his  master's  glory. 

"That  would  be  impossible  for  me"  mutters  de  Ver- 
ney. Then  he  says,  with  a  little  laugh,  "  It  might  be  a 
pretty  even  thing  between  us  though,  Frangois  !  " 

"  I'd  bet  you  could  down  him,"  answers  the  old  serv- 
ant. "  Just  give  him  a  tumble  to-night.  I  hear  L'homme 
Masque  is  getting  conceited  !  " 

"  Perhaps  he  is,"  says  Maurice.  "  Pride  often  goes 
before  a  fall !  "  and  leaving  his  servant  grinning  at  his 
remark  he  sits  down  to  a  light  breakfast. 

Before  this  is  finished,  an  answer  comes  to  a  letter  he 
had  written  the  night  before  to  his  general,  granting 
him  leave  of  absence  from  to-day's  parade. 

He  has  now  his  day  before  him,  and  can  use  it  as  he 
has  arranged  in  his  mind  the  previous  evening.  He 


THAT  FRENCHMAN!  121 

looks  over  his  mail.  Among  the  letters  is  one  from  the 
chemist  to  whom  he  had  written  the  previous  evening. 
It  is  short  and  to  the  point,  as  follows  : 

ECOLE  DES  MINES,  PARIS,  April  2ist,  1868. 
My  dear  Chevalier : 

Your  note  of  this  evening  is  at  hand. 

You  ask  for  the  properties  of  carbonic-acid  gas  as  a  poison.  As  I 
know  your  healthy  mind  would  never  contemplate  suicide,  I  give 
them  with  pleasure. 

Carbonic  acid  is,  at  natural  temperature  and  pressure,  a  gas  con- 
taining one  equivalent  of  carbon  and  two  of  oxygen  (CO2,  old  nota- 
tion). It  is  odorless,  colorless,  tasteless,  and  has  the  peculiar  prop- 
erty of  being  heavier  than  air,  consequently  will  lie  in  the  bottoms  of 
old  wells,  shafts,  etc.,  and  cause  death  to  people  descending  them, 
being  a  poison  when  breathed  by  man  or  animals.  Its  action  is 
partly  positive  as  a  narcotic,  and  partly  negative,  as  it  will  not  sup- 
port life. 

Its  weight  being  greater  than  the  atmosphere  permits  it  to  remain  in 
deep  places  when  undisturbable,  though  the  general  law  of  the  diffu- 
sion of  gases  would  gradually  cause  it  to  mingle  with  the  air  even 
in  shafts  and  caves,  etc.  However,  as  you  value  your  life,  don't 
descend  into  any  place  filled  with  it — as  the  first  breath  would  doubt- 
less cause  you  to  faint  ;  and  five  minutes  after,  you  would  be  dead 
beyond  a  question. 

If  you  have  any  investigation  of  this  kind  to  make,  lower  a  lighted 
candle  first.  If  it  burns,  you  need  have  no  fear  ;  if  it  is  extinguished, 
the  same  gas  that  causes  death  to  flame  and  light  will  cause  death 
to  humanity. 

Suicide  by  burning  charcoal  in  a  closed  room  is  produced  by  this 
gas ;  though  this  death  is  gradual,  because  it  takes  time  to  fill  the 
room  thoroughly  with  it.  If  the  chamber  were  thoroughly  charged 
with  gas,  death  would  be  very  rapid.  Carbonic  acid  is  generated 
by  many  common  causes  in  nature  ;  and  in  the  arts  is  mostly  pro- 
duced by  the  action  of  some  strong  acid  upon  carbonate  of  lime 
(marble),  which  liberates  the  gas,  which  in  the  form  of  soda-water 
you  enjoy  in  your  stomach  ;  but  in  the  lungs  would  cause  your 
death.  If  you  want  any  additional  particulars,  write  me,  and  you 
can  rely  upon  an  answer  from, 

Your  sincere  friend, 
To  Le  Chevalier  de  Verney,  ALFRED  LEFEVRE, 

No.  33  Rue  d'Hautville, 
Paris. 


122  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Maurice  looks  rather  serious  after  reading  this,  then 
gives  a  sudden  whistle  and  orders  Fran£ois  to  call  a  cab  ; 
for  he  has  concluded  that  it  is  just  as  well  for  him  to  see 
the  hiding-place  of  the  Prince,  and  whether  it  is  in  a  well, 
shaft,  or  hole  in  the  ground. 

While  Francois  is  doing  this,  the  officers  on  watch  at 
the  Rue  de  Maubeuge  and  flower  kiosk  come  in  and 
report  that  during  the  night  nothing  has  happened  at 
either  of  these  places,  and  the  German  chemist  has  not 
returned  to  his  lodging.  This  is  about  what  de  Verney 
has  expected.  He  lets  these  men  go.  Regnier,  Marcil- 
lac,  and  Jolly  have  come  in  for  their  day's  instructions. 
Jolly  is  ordered  to  watch  the  flower-stand,  and  in  case 
Hermann  again  appears,  to  follow  him  at  once.  Marcil- 
lac  is  detailed  to  keep  his  eyes  on  August  Lieber,  to  see 
if  he  delivers  a  paper  or  communication  to  any  one.  In 
that  case  Marcillac  is  to  follow  the  person  getting  the 
communication. 

Monsieur  Regnier  he  retains  for  a  special  service  in 
the  afternoon. 

These  details  settled,  it  is  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

He  drives  off  toward  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation,  but 
passing  along  the  Boulevard  Montmartre,  chances  to 
see  Monsieur  Lieber  at  his  flower  kiosk,  and  thinks  he 
would  like  to  talk  to  that  gentleman  for  a  minute. 

As  he  comes  up  to  him  and  offers  him  the  promised 
tickets  for  his  box  at  this  night's  opera,  Auguste  puts 
them  quickly  aside  and  cries,  "  No  opera  for  me  to-night 
— see  !  "  He  points  to  one  of  the  wrestler's  posters 
and  mutters  :  "  That  chap  has  come  out  of  hiding  at 
last.  To-night  I'll  show  the  cussed  aristocrat  what  one 
of  the  people  will  do  with  his  dainty  flesh  and  noble 
bones !  " 

"  Then  mademoiselle  will  not  go  either  ?  " 

"  Not  she  !  She  loves  strength  !  She'd  have  never 
loved "  He  stops  himself  here,  and  goes  on  more 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  123 

carefully,  "  Louise  is  coming  to-night  to  see  me  slap  the 
masked  fellow  to  the  dust.  You  will  come  with  me  to- 
night ?  You,  I  hope,  will  be  in  the  ring  with  me  !  " 

At  this  Maurice  can't  help  giving  a  little  start. 

Whereupon  the  Alsacian  cries,  "  Don't  be  afraid  !  I 
wouldn't  let  that  masked  scoundrel  hurt  you.  I,  Auguste 
Lieber,  thought  you  might  like  to  be  my  second.  I 
would  have  protected  you  ;  for  I  will  blow  that  man, 
who  dare  not  let  me  see  his  face,  away — like  that — 
POUGH  !  "  Here  he  gives  a  tremendous  puff  with  his 
mighty  lungs,  brings  his  jaws  together  with  a  snap  that 
makes  the  girl  Rose,  who  is  standing  near,  give  a  startled 
yell,  and  says  smilingly,  "  He  is  gone  !  " 

"  I  cannot  be  your  second,  though  I  hope  to  see  you 
in  the  ring  very  much,  Monsieur  Lieber,"  returns  Mau- 
rice, quite  cordially. 

"  Don't  doubt  me  !  "  cries  Auguste  ;  "  I  would  not  miss 
him  for  my  life.  To-day  I  am  sure  to  meet  him.  If  it 

had  been  to-morrow "  Here  he  checks  himself 

again,  for  joy  has  made  Monsieur  Lieber  very  enthusi- 
astic this  morning,  and  says,  "Will  you  not  have  a 
boutonniere  ?  " 

"Yes,"  returns  Maurice,  "but  I  would  like  a  colored 
one.  You  have  only  white  ones  this  morning." 

"  Ah  !  To-day  red  roses  are  so  scarce  in  my  garden 
that  I  have  made  up  only  white  ones  for  the  gentlemen," 
murmurs  the  Alsacian. 

"  Then  a  white  one  will  do,"  says  de  Verney,  pinning 
one  in  his  coat,  and  driving  on  his  way  rejoicing  ;  for 
white  roses,  he  knows,  mean  that  the  German  chemist 
may  expect  no  addition  to  his  cipher — consequently  Mr. 
Lieber  still  has  the  last  of  it  in  his  possession.  Red  roses 
about  his  establishment  would  have  been  regarded  by 
Maurice  with  anxiety. 

In  quite  an  easy  frame  of  mind  he  turns  over  in  his 
head  a  plan  for  his  afternoon  search  at  the  house  in  the 


124  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Rue  des  Vignes  ;  and,  arriving  at  the  Jardin  d'Acclima- 
tation,  leaves  his  voiture  and  strolls  along  the  road  to  the 
Madrid  till  he  comes  to  where  the  imperial  party  stood 
the  afternoon  before.  There  are  not  many  people  about 
now — it  is  too  early,  and  most  of  the  children  that  have 
come  out  this  morning  are  in  the  garden  looking  at  the 
kangaroos  eat,  or  the  monkeys  play. 

This  suits  him  exactly  ;  he  wishes  to  make  his  exami- 
nation unnoticed. 

He  takes  his  departure  from  the  point  where  the 
Prince  received  his  prize,  going  into  the  thickets  and 
trees  at  the  place  from  which  the  boy  issued,  and 
makes  his  search  very  carefully,  looking  here,  there, 
everywhere  he  can  imagine  a  child  could  find  a  place 
of  seclusion  or  hiding.  None  seem  to  him  sufficiently 
secure  or  difficult  of  discovery  to  permit  him  for  a  mo- 
ment to  thirik  it  is  the  hiding-place  that  has  been  proof 
against  a  half-hour's  search.  He  has  devoted  almost 
an  hour  to  this  business,  when  he  impatiently  thinks  : 
"  Either  that  boy  Conneau  was  a  fool  for  not  finding  the 
Prince,  or  I've  not  yet  seen  the  royal  retiring-place."  A 
moment  after  he  mutters  :  "  I  must  find  the  spot  ;  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  that  I  should." 

And  with  this,  he  goes  regularly  and  systematically 
over  the  ground  once  more,  giving  himself  bounds  in 
which  he  knows  the  boy  must  have  found  concealment. 
But  this  proves  still  unsuccessful. 

He  has  just  thought,  "  I  wonder  if  I  couldn't  get  a  hint 
from  one  of  the  gardeners  or  workmen  in  the  park,"  and 
has  turned  his  eyes  about,  looking  for  one  of  them,  when 
suddenly,  from  a  neighboring  thicket  of  shrubs,  he  hears 
a  fresh,  childish  voice  crying  excitedly  : 

"  Papa  !  papa  !  call  Ivan  away  !  He's  found  a  curious 
place,  and  will  go  in  !  Perhaps  it's  a  bear's  nest,  and 
the  bear'll  eat  him  up  !  Down,  Ivan  !  down  !  Papa,  call 
him  ;  he's  acting  horribly  !  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  125 

Disappointed  as  he  is,  Maurice  can't  help  a  grin  at  the 
idea  of  a  bear's  nest  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

A  moment  after  he  gives  a  start. 

Probably  under  any  circumstances  he  would  have 
looked,  as  well  as  "  papa."  The  voice,  which  is  apparently 
that  of  a  little  girl,  is  soft,  liquid,  and  attractive;  but  with 
his  search  in  mind,  any  "  curious  place  "  has  in  itself  inter- 
est for  him.  He  forces  his  way  through  a  thickly-grown 
plantation  of  young  trees  and  shrubs,  covered  with  the 
green  leaves  and  new  buds  of  spring,  and,  after  a  few 
steps,  comes  to  a  little  path,  on  one  side  of  which  is  a 
bank  of  earth  and  stones  covered  with  rock-ivy,  pampas- 
grass,  and  wild-flowers.  Through  these,  a  little  girl,  who 
has  parted  them  with  her  hands,  is  gazing  apparently 
right  into  the  mound.  Beside  her  stands  a  huge  Siberian 
wolf-hound,  with  hanging-out  tongue  and  wagging  tail, 
tearing  up  the  earth  with  his  claws,  and  only  restrained, 
by  the  hand  his  young  mistress  has  upon  his  collar,  from 
jumping  somewhere.  The  exquisite  costume  and  pictur- 
esque attitude  of  the  child  and  her  dumb  companion  make 
Maurice  pause,  in  almost  fear  that  his  coming  will  disturb 
the  group. 

As  he  does  so,  a  kindly  hand  is  laid  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  a  familiar  voice  says  :  "  De  Verney,  my  boy,  if  that 
sight  is  a  pretty  one  to  you,  how  should  it  look  to  me, 
the  fairy's  father  ? " 

"  As  a  little  nearer  to  heaven  than  I  ever  expect  to 
get,  general,"  replies  Maurice,  turning  and  grasping  the 
old  gentleman's  hand  that  is  outstretched  to  him;  for  he 
has  recognized  the  voice  as  that  of  Count  Lapuschkin,  a 
general  in  the  Russian  service,  whom  de  Verney  has  met 
so  often  in  the  last  year  that  he  regards  him  as  a  friend 
rather  than  as  an  acquaintance  ;  for  the  count,  though 
all  of  sixty  years  of  age,  has  that  geniality  which  endears 
him  to  young  men. 

The  old  man,  who  has  been  panting  a  little  from  the 


126  THAT    FRENCHMAN 


exertion  of  following  his  daughter's  light  steps — for  he  has 
a  stiff  leg  and  several  wounds,  reminiscences  of  the 
Crimea  and  the  charge  of  the  six  hundred — slips  his  arm 
into  de  Verney's,  and  they  walk  up  to  the  child,  who  is 
too  much  interested  in  what  she  is  gazing  at,  to  give  an 
eye  to  their  approach  ;  though  she  calls  out,  "  Quick,  papa! 
or  Ivan  will  jump  in,  and  the  bear  may  eat  him  ;  he 
smells  something  in  there  !  "  and,  with  one  little  hand 
thrown  around  the  dog's  shaggy  neck,  she  uses  all  her 
force  trying  to  restrain  him. 

One  thing  now  strikes  Maurice  forcibly  :  that  is,  the 
thorough  disinterestedness  and  courage  of  the  child  ; 
she  has  fears  for  her  four-footed  companion,  but  none 
for  herself. 

"  Down,  dog  !  "  says  the  general,  in  so  kindly  a  tone 
that  the  hound  looks  round  at  him  and  wags  his  tail;  but, 
seeing  something  in  his  master's  eye  that  suggests  prompt 
obedience,  immediately  drops  upon  the  grass  ;  and  the 
little  girl,  with  her  hand  on  his  big  head,  stands  waiting 
to  receive  them. 

While  she  does  so,  Maurice  takes  a  second  look  at  her  ; 
and,  young  as  she  is,  she  gives  him  a  sensation  that  many 
a  belle  at  the  imperial  balls  would  have  been  happy  to 
have  produced  upon  the  unimpressionable  chevalier. 

The  child's  first  general  effect  upon  him  is,  that  she 
is  pretty  ;  the  second  is  one  that  makes  him  mutter, 
"  Great  heavens  !  a  few  years  and  what  a  glorious  being 
she  will  be  !  " 

From  a  sort  of  day-dream  of  the  girl's  future  loveli- 
ness, he  is  aroused  by  the  general's  voice  saying, 
"  Maurice,  this  is  my  little  daughter  Ora  ;  Ora,  salute 
my  friend,  Le  Chevalier  de  Verney." 

"  Oh !  "  replies  the  child,  apparently  forgetting  the  bear 
on  seeing  him,  "  I  know  Monsieur  de  Verney  very  well 
already,  though  I  did  not  know  his  name  ;  and — "  here 
she  gives  him  her  hand — "and  I  like  him  very  much  !  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  127 

"You  know  me,  little  countess  ?  "  asks  Maurice. 

"  Yes  ;  and,  now  you  and  papa  are  here,  I'm  not  afraid 
of  the  bear  !  "  and  a  great  pair  of  honest,  trusting,  blue 
eyes  are  raised  to  his,  sparkling  with  innocent  admira- 
tion. 

"  Ha-ah  !  been  having  a  flirtation,  eh  ? "  laughs  the 
general. 

Here  the  little  girl  astounds  de  Verney.  She  says 
"  No  !  "  promptly ;  and  then,  slowly  and  reproachfully, 
"  He  wouldn't  look  at  me  !  " 

"  When  did  I  see  you  ? "  asks  the  chevalier. 

"You — you  didn't  see  me  !  "  remarks  Ora,  with  a  little 
pout.  "  That  was  the  trouble  ;  and  I  always  looked  at 
you  when  we  met  you  in  the  Bois,  and  said  to  Vassalissa, 
'  There  is  the  handsome  gentleman  who  drives  his  horses 
so  beautifully.'  I  have  admired  you  for  over  a  year,  and 
you — you  never  looked  at  me."  There  is  indignant 
reproach  in  the  blue  eyes,  though  their  fire  is  veiled  by 
a  teary  mist.  Then  she  suddenly  cries,  "  Papa,  this  is 
the  gentleman  !  "  pulls  her  father's  head  down  to  hers 
and  whispers  eagerly  in  his  ear. 

After  listening  with  forced  gravity  a  moment,  General 
Lapuschkin  bursts  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  upon  which 
the  young  lady  gives  him  a  wounded  glance  ;  then  turns 
her  back  on  both  gentlemen,  and  placing  her  hand  upon 
the  dog's  head,  says,  "  You  never  make  fun  of  me,  do 
you,  Ivan,  though  I  am  little,  and  won't  let  you  fight 
with  bears  ?  " 

So  the  beast  and  his  caressing  mistress  stand  gazing 
once  more  through  the  plants  and  vines  into  the  bank  of 
rocks  and  earth,  while  Alexis  Lapuschkin  bows  to  his 
daughter  and  says,  "  Mademoiselle,  I  ask  your  pardon  ;  I 
had  no  idea  the  affair  v/as  so  serious  ;  but,  were  you 
older,  you  would  walk  further  from  me  and  blush  very 
deeply  when  I  deliver  your  message  to  this  young  gen- 
tleman." 


128  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

With  this  he  leads  the  astonished  Maurice  a  few  steps 
away  and  whispers  to  him  :  "  My  daughter  has  several 
times,  after  her  rides  in  the  Bois,  informed  me  that  she 
was  in  love  with  a  gentleman.  She  now  tells  me  that 
you  are  the  man  she  so  honored  !  " 

"  Honored  and  delighted  both  !  "  utters  Maurice,  more 
seriously  than  might  be  expected  ;  for  the  innocent 
naivete ,  united  with  the  fairy-like  beauty  of  the  little 
girl,  has  made  an  impression  on  him  greater  than  even  he 
guesses. 

He  walks  toward  the  child,  and  bowing  says,  "  Made- 
moiselle, your  regard  would  make  any  man  very  happy — 
me  especially  so  !  " 

The  blue  eyes  gaze  into  his. 

Ora  cries,  "  I  know  you  mean  it.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  !  " 
and,  running  to  him,  astonishes  both  her  elders  ;  for  she 
now  says  very  seriously  and  impressively,  "Just  wait 
till  I  grow  up  !  "  and  takes  possession  of  de  Verney's 
hand  as  if  it  already  were  her  property. 

Upon  this  her  father  remarks,  rather  pointedly  and 
perhaps  a  little  sternly,  "  Then  what  will  poor  Dimitri 
do?" 

These  words  produce  an  astonishing  effect  upon  the 
child.  Her  eyes  flash  with  rage  ;  then  she  gives  a  cry  of 
almost  despair,  which  changes  into  convulsive  sobs. 
Before  the  general  can  take  her  in  his  arms  to  console 
her,  Ora,  after  one  long,  reproachful  look  at  him,  runs 
away  in  a  passion  of  tears  to  the  seclusion  of  a  neigh- 
boring thicket.  The  dog  bounds  after  her,  apparently  to 
comfort  her,  and  Lapuschkin  and  de  Verney  are  alone. 

The  expression  on  the  general's  face  is  serious  and 
somewhat  annoyed. 

In  answer  to  the  inquiring  glance  of  Maurice,  he 
mutters,  "  I  presume  a  family  matter  can  hardly  interest 
you,  but  my  little  daughter  as  an  infant  was  betrothed 
to  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  at  that  time  a  boy  of  fourteen.  It 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  129 

was  the  wish  of  her  mother,  who  is  now  dead,  and  one 
of  those  arrangements  common  in  the  great  families  of 
Russia,  by  which  we  keep  our  prestige  and  power.  Now 
Ora  is  a  girl  of  ten,  and  Dimitri  a  man  of  twenty-two, 
and  she  loathes,  despises,  and  hates  him." 

Maurice  has  seen  this  young  man  at  the  clubs  and  on 
the  race-course  sufficiently  to  know  enough  of  him  and 
his  character  to  be  sure  the  instinct  of  the  little  girl 
is  right  ;  for  the  Prince  Dimitri  Menchikoff  was  already 
noted  in  Paris  for  his  desperate  play  at  cards,  notorious 
betting  on  horses,  libertinage  with  women,  and  general 
beastly,  brutal  cruelty  to  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
beneath  him,  though  polishedly  polite  to  his  equals  and 
cringing  to  his  superiors. 

He  was  a  man  who  swore  to  his  mistress  that  he  loved 
her  as  his  life  one  week,  and  passed  her  by,  starving  in 
the  streets,  with  a  smiling  scoff,  the  next  ;  who  in  the 
salons  of  St.  Petersburg  proclaimed  that  the  Czar's 
ukase  liberating  the  serfs  was  the  glory  of  Russia,  and 
then  went  home  and,  because  the  polish  on  his  boots  was 
not  to  his  liking,  cruelly  flogged  his  valet  so  newly  liber- 
ated that  the  poor  wretch  did  not  know  the  rights  that 
freedom  gave  him. 

Thinking  of  this  fellow's  giant  size,  brutal  instincts, 
and  cold,  fishy  eyes,  de  Verney — -looking  at  the  exquisite 
child,  a  few  years  from  now,  in  the  first  blush  of  her 
beauty  and  bloom  of  her  womanly  goodness,  to  be  deliv- 
ered over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  this  ogre,  and  under 
the  name  of  wife  to  become  his  slave-  cannot  restrain  a 
shudder.  If  she  suffers  now,  what  will  she  suffer  then  ? 

Noticing  this,  Lapuschkin  remarks,  "  You  also  fear  for 
her,  Monsieur  de  Verney  ?  " 

"Very  much,"  replies  Maurice  shortly,  for  he  hates  to 
contemplate  the  affair. 

"  So  do  I,"  says  the  general ;  "  and,  if  my  child  con- 
tinues in  the  same  mind  in  regard  to  it  when  she  is  older, 
9 


130  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

I  shall  break  off  the  affair  ;  though,  I  presume,  I  shall 
have  some  opposition  to  encounter.  In  fact,  it  is  on  this 
business  that  I  return  to  Russia  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !  "  echoes  Maurice.  There  is  a  sorrow 
in  his  voice  that  astonishes  him. 

"  Yes  ;  all  my  arrangements  are  made.  But  I  see  the 
cloud  has  passed  away  !  "  and  the  general  calls,  "  Ora  ! 
come  and  show  Monsieur  de  Verney  what  you  have 
found  this  morning  !  "  For,  like  all  childhood's  sorrows, 
this  one  of  the  little  girl's  has  been  short-lived,  and  she 
is  now  romping  with  Ivan  as  if  there  was  no  Dimitri 
Menchikoff  in  the  world. 

"  Oh  !  you  want  to  see  the  bear's  hiding-place  ? "  she 
cries  ;  and  with  the  word  "  hiding-place  "  Maurice  comes 
back  from  contemplating  the  fate  of  the  girl,  to  that  of 
the  boy  upon  whom  he  has  staked  his  own. 

"  Yes — exceedingly  !  "  he  returns,  in  a  tone  of  interest 
that  pleases  Miss  Ora. 

"  Then  I'll  show  it  to  you  ;  but  papa  hardly  cares  for 
bears'  nests,  and  I  don't  think  I'll  let  him  look  at  it  !  " 
she  says  meditatively  ;  then  runs  to  the  mound,  into  which 
the  dog  is  again  trying  to  dig  with  his  claws. 

"  Now  for  your  bear,  little  countess  !  "  laughs  Mau- 
rice ;  and,  stepping  to  her  side,  he  pushes  his  hand  first 
through  the  trailing  vines,  and  then  through  a  small 
crevice,  into  a  hole  in  the  rocky  ground  that  is  appar- 
ently much  larger,  for,  though  he  gropes  about  to  the 
full  length  of  his  arm,  he  cannot  feel  the  sides. 

The  hound  snuffs  eagerly  beside  him  and  pokes  his 
nose  into  this  crevice  also,  as  if  jealous  of  him,  till  they 
both  get  jammed  into  the  hole  together. 

The  dog  growls,  on  which  Ora  cries  :  "  Has  the  bear 
got  you  ?  or  is  it  only  a  wolf  ?  Ivan  can  eat  up  a  wolf 
by  himself.  Nikolai,  our  huntsman  at  Tula,  told  me  so. 
Why,  you're  as  eager  as  the  dog,  Monsieur  de  Verney  !  " 
and  the  little  girl  laughs  ;  for  Maurice  has  suddenly  be- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  131 

come  convinced  this  is  the  Prince's  hiding-place,  and  his 
actions  show  it. 

He  withdraws  his  hand  and  runs  around  to  the  other 
side  of  the  mound,  and  after  some  rooting  and  digging 
finds  a  handle  to  something,  lifts  that  something  up,  and 
discloses  to  the  light  of  day  a  little  shaft,  perhaps  seven 
feet  deep  and  six  feet  square,  that  is  used  by  the  park 
gardeners  as  a  receptacle  for  their  tools,  and,  in  their 
artistic  and  ingenious  French  fashion,  has  been  covered 
over  and  concealed  from  general  view  by  the  mound  of 
rocks  that  are  made  pleasing  to  the  eye  by  green  vines, 
creepers,  shrubs,  and  wild-flowers. 

A  few  tools  left  in  it  prove  its  use,  the  remainder  hav- 
ing been  taken  out  for  the  day's  work,  probably  early  in 
the  morning.  A  little  ladder  leads  into  it. 

Maurice,  running  lightly  down  this,  picks  up  a  single 
faded  rose-bud,  and  feels  sure  it  once  was  in  the  Princes' 
buttonhole,  and  this  is  the  hiding-place  of  the  imperial 
infant. 

While  doing  so,  both  the  general  and  his  daughter  look 
down  at  him. 

The  elder  says,  "  Quite  an  artistic  tool-house." 

The  younger  says,  "  Where's  Ivan's  bear  ?  "  for  the 
dog  is  still  sniffing  eagerly,  and  it  is  difficult  to  prevent 
his  jumping  down  after  de  Verney. 

"  I've  no  doubt  this  is  Ivan's  bear  !  "  remarks  Maurice, 
with  a  smile,  looking  at  the  hound,  who  is  now  licking  his 
chops  wistfully  ;  and  holding  up  the  lunch-basket  of  the 
workmen,  which  gives  out  an  appetizing  odor.  "  The 
dog  smelled  this.  Don't  you  give  the  poor  fellow  enough 
to  eat  ?  " 

"  The  idea  !  "  cries  Ora.  "  Ivan  is  always  hungry, 
though  we  give  him  plenty ;  don't  we,  good  doggie  ? " 
and  she  pets  the  brute  in  a  half  apologetic  manner,  and 
nestles  her  fair  curls  in  his  shaggy  neck. 

"  The  beast  has  the  jaws  and  stomach  of  the  wolf  that 


132  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

he  pursues  ;  and,  faith  !  if  he  were  famished,  he'd  eat  us 
up  quite  as  quickly,"  says  the  general,  while  de  Verney 
ascends  the  ladder  and  replaces  everything  with  great 
care  just  as  he  found  it. 

At  which  the  little  girl  opens  her  eyes,  and  cries  : 
"  Why  do  you  do  all  that  ? " 

"  Because — because,"  returns  the  chevalier  suddenly, 
"  the  old  bear  might  come  back  and  find  her  nest  dis- 
turbed, and  be  frightened,  and  take  her  cubs,  and  they  all 
sleep  out  at  night  and  catch  cold." 

Thereupon  the  child  claps  her  hands  and  says :  "  How 
thoughtful  you  are  for  the  poor  bear !  I'll  help  you," 
and  the  two  play  together  like  children,  and  obliterate 
all  traces  of  their  visit  and  Ivan's  claws. 

As  they  turn  away,  the  old  general  says,  tapping 
Maurice  on  the  shoulder,  "You  take  a  great  deal 
of  trouble  to  amuse  my  little  daughter  ;  monsieur,  you 
have  a  good  heart "  ;  and  the  veteran's  eyes  have  tears  in 
them  as  he  watches  his  lovely  girl,  in  innocence,  youth, 
and  joy,  race  with  her  dog  down  the  green  lanes  and  over 
the  morning  dew  and  the  spring  wild-flowers  of  that 
beautiful  park. 

De  Verney,  following  the  general's  glance,  now  for  the 
first  time  fully  appreciates  the  child  before  him,  for  she 
is  in  full  action. 

She  is  dressed  as  a  princess — as,  indeed,  her  father's 
great  wealth  and  the  enormous  estates  she  is  heir  to, 
being  an  only  child,  warrant — and  with  a  coquettish  little 
hat  on  her  head  and  her  body  a  mass  of  white  ermine 
and  silver-fox  furs,  save  where  the  short  skirts  of  child- 
hood show  limbs  that,  in  their  silk  stockings  and  pretty 
French  boots,  are  even  now  fairy-like  in  their  grace  and 
beauty,  and  promise  in  the  development  of  womanhood  a 
figure  that  will  be  worthy  of  her  face — which  is  as  strong 
a  simile  as  comes  to  de  Verney's  mind  as  he  looks  upon  her. 

So  they  all  come  down  to  the  count's  equipage  that, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  133 

with  a  great  show  of  flunkies  and  liveries,  is  near  the 
Jardin  d'Acclimatation;  for  a  rich  boyard  always  keeps  up 
a  style  and  display,  as  much  for  the  honor  of  his  country 
as  for  his  own;  and  the  Lapuschkins  are  very  rich,  even 
among  their  own  great  compatriots,  the  Demidoffs,  Gort- 
schakoffs,  etc. 

Here  they  are  met  by  a  young  girl  of  fifteen.  She  has 
comely  features  of  the  peasant  class,  and  a  pair  of  calm, 
dogged,  fearless,  yet  enduring  eyes — a  legacy  from  ances- 
tors who  have  been  serfs  for  centuries. 

The  count  cries  to  her  in  a  pleasant  voice,  "  Ha,  Vas- 
silissa,  why  have  you  followed  us?  Could  you  not  live 
two  hours  without  your  mistress  ? " 

At  this,  Ora  says  :  "  I  hope  not,  for  I  love  her.  This 
is  my  foster-sister,  Vassilissa  Petrona,  Monsieur  de 
Verney." 

The  girl  makes  him  a  rustic  courtesy,  then  turns  to  her 
master,  and,  making  obeisance,  says :  "  Little  father, 
this  letter  came  from  the  new  governess  you  engaged 
yesterday,  after  you  had  left.  I  thought  you  might  like 
to  see  it  at  once.  I  like  to  walk,  it's  only  two  miles,  and 
I  hope  you  are  not  angry." 

"  Certainly  not,"  says  the  general,  taking  the  note, 
and,  after  looking  it  over,  gives  a  disgusted  sniff  and 
mutters,  "  How  unfortunate  !  "  After  a  moment's  com- 
muning with  himself,  he  says  :  "  De  Verney,  I  wonder  if 
you  could  help  me  in  this  matter  ;  you  have  a  large 
acquaintance  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain  ? " 

"  Yes,  lots  of  cousins,  uncles,  and  aunts — most  of  them 
very  cold  to  me,  now  that  I  am  in  favor  with  the 
Emperor,"  answers  Maurice. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  can  do  what  I  wish,"  mutters 
Lapuschkin,  and,  leading  the  young  man  a  few  steps 
away  from  the  girls,  he  says  :  "  Yesterday  I  engaged  a 
governess  for  Ora  ;  I  am  going  to  our  estates  in  Tula,  and 
require  a  woman  capable  of  developing  the  mind  of  my 


134  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

child  as  well  as  teaching  her  the  accomplishments  con- 
sidered necessary  for  a  young  lady  of  her  rank.  To-day 
the  person  I  engaged,  and  for  whom  I  made  all  arrange- 
ments, obtained  passport,  etc.,  writes  that  her  mother  is 
too  ill  for  her  to  leave  her  for  the  present.  Do  you 
know  of  any  gentlewoman  who  would  lilt  this  position, 
and  who  would  be  willing  to  accept  a  home  with  us  in 
Russia  and  any  reasonable  remuneration  she  might  ask  ?  " 

"  You  go  away  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  in  the  afternoon,  by  the  half-past  three  train, 
via  Cologne  and  Frankfort." 

"  Then  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you  in  that  time. 
Couldn't  I  send  the  lady  on  after  you  ?  "  says  Maurice  ; 
"you'll  have  to  wait  in  St.  Petersburg." 

"  Papa  !  won't  you  take  me  for  a  last  look  at  my  pet 
funny  monkey  ?  "  calls  Ora  ;  "  I  want  to  bid  him  good- 
by." 

"Very  well,  then,"  remarks  Lapuschkin,  "  you'll  do 
what  you  can  in  the  governess  line  ?  I  should  not  have 
spoken  to  many  young  men  on  such  a  subject ;  but  you — 
I  have  a  respect  for  you.  Won't  you  come  with  us  into 
the  garden  ? " 

"  Oh,  please,  Monsieur  Maurice,  you  shall  feed  my 
pet  monkey  !  "  cries  Ora,  taking  his  hand  to  lead  him  to 
the  entrance. 

He  would  like  to  accept  the  invitation,  but,  glancing 
at  his  watch,  de  Verney  gives  a  start.  It  is  now  eleven. 
He  is  behind  his  time-table  for  this  day's  work,  and  dare 
wait  no  longer. 

He  excuses  himself  from  the  little  lady,  who  says 
pleadingly,  "  I  hope  you've  not  tired  of  me  already. 
I  haven't  known  you  to  speak  to  very  long,  but  I  like 
you  very  much.  We've  been  such  good  play-fellows  !  " 

For  Maurice  has  that  peculiar,  gentle  way  and  frank 
manner  that  endears  him  to  women,  children,  and  the 
lower  animals  who  have  instinct. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  135 

To  this  her  father  remarks  :  "  Ora,  you  must  not  detain 
the  chevalier ;  he  has  much  business  of  his  own  and 
some  of  mine  to  attend  to,  and  will,  I  hope,  see  us  later 
in  the  day  at  my  hotel,  No.  137  Rue  du  Faubourg  St. 
Honore,"  handing  Maurice  his  card. 

"  I  will  call,"  mutters  de  Verney,  raising  his  hat,  and 
watching  the  veteran  leading  his  little  daughter  away 
with  a  care  that  indicates  every  thought  of  his  old  life  is 
wrapped  up  in  her  young  one. 

A  moment  after  he  reflects  that  he  has  but  little  time 
to-day  for  the  general's  service,  and  stepping  quickly 
after  them  overtakes  the  party. 

"  If  you  could  remain  a  few  days  longer,  I  am  sure  I 
could  find  a  person  suitable  for  you,  count  !  "  he  says, 
and  gets  an  astonishing  answer. 

The  old  gentleman  replies:  "  I  wish  I  could  get  out  of 
town  to-night — to-morrow  I  shall  be  ashamed  of  myself  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  you  surprise  me.     Why  ? " 

"  Why  !  "  cries  the  general,  breaking  out  into  a  rage  ; 
"  that  cursed  nephew  of  mine,  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  is 
going  to  make  an  ass  of  himself  to-night  by  struggling 
with  that  French  idiot  who  wrestles  in  a  mask  !  Though 
perhaps,  if  he  gets  his  head  knocked  off,  it  might  be  best 
for  everybody.  However,  you'll  do  what  you  can  for  me 
to-day,  won't  you,  de  Verney  ?  "  and  he  gives  him  a 
kindly  glance  and  shake  of  the  hand. 

Then  the  Russian  party  enter  the  garden,  leaving 
Maurice  biting  his  lip  and  gazing  after  them  in  a  half- 
laughing,  half-astounded  sort  of  way. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LAMLA. 

A  MOMENT  after,  he  mutters,  "  Pish  !  I  believe  Lapusch- 
kin  is  half  right.  To-night  shall  be  my  last  !  "  Then 
he  gives  a  little  smile  and  continues,  "  I  know  now  how 
sensible  people  regard  me  !  "  calls  his  cab,  and  drives 
rapidly  back  to  his  apartments. 

Getting  there,  he  seizes  upon  the  letter  from  his 
chemical  friend,  and  reads  it  carefully  over  once  more, 
and  after  a  little  says,  "  Ora's  bear's  nest  is  just  the  place 
for  this  carbonic-acid  gas,  especially  with  the  lid  drawn 
over  it  ";  then  thinks  very  hard,  and  suddenly  cries,  "  I 
believe  I  have  it  !  "  but  a  moment  after  mutters  deject- 
edly, "  This  is  all  conjecture — all  hypothesis — all  guess- 
work. I  must — I  will  have  proofs  that  will  convince 
a  judge  and  convict  these  people.  I'll  have  them  to- 
day !  " 

He  is  interrupted  here  by  the  entrance  of  Frangois, 
who,  with  a  grin,  reports  that  Monsieur  Microbe  is  in 
waiting. 

"  Let  him  come  in  at  once,"  cries  Maurice,  and,  a 
moment  after,  that  volatile  young  man  enters  briskly, 
and  says  cheerfully,  "  I  am  ready  for  duty,  Monsieur  de 
Verney." 

"  Ah  !  you've  been  before  the  judge,  and  convicted  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  sentenced  ?  " 

"  Severely  !  I  got  three  months  with  hard  labor,  and 
worked  out  my  time  in  three  minutes.  They  no  sooner 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  137 

opened  the  doors  of  Mazas  to  me,  than  I  got  out  in  a 
hurry  ;  I  feared  that  the  turnkeys  might  think  it  a  mis- 
take, and  keep  me  for  further  orders." 

"  Is  that  your  prison  dress  ?  I  should  not  have  known 
you,"  remarks  Maurice  ;  for  Microbe,  the  dashing  dandy 
of  yesterday,  is  to-day  as  fresh,  cheeky,  and  impudent  a 
young  butcher-boy  as  can  be  seen  in  Paris. 

He  has  on  an  apron  covered  with  blood,  and  is  sug- 
gestive of  a  bull-dog  upon  the  seat  on  the  cart  outside. 

"  No  ;  but  as  Lieber  and  the  flower-girl  will  learn  by 
the  papers  that  I'm  in  prison,  it's  just  as  well  that,  in 
case  they  should  happen  to  see  me,  their  eyes  should  not 
tell  them  that  I'm  still  at  large." 

"  Quite  correct  ;  I  should  have  ordered  a  disguise  my- 
self, if  you  had  not  ;  but  now,  being  ready,  you  can  take 
charge  of  an  affair  in  which  I  need  your  aid  at  once." 
And  with  this  de  Verney  gives  the  little  fellow  some 
instructions  that  make  his  eyes  roll  ;  then  sends  him  away 
whistling,  but  dazed  and  astonished. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  it'll  be  before  you  can  do  it  ? " 
calls  Maurice  after  him. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  says  Microbe,  in  a  melancholy 
voice  ;  "  perhaps  never,  if  Lieber  catches  me  !  " 

"  Pough  !  he'll  never  recognize  you  ;  and  you  must  be 
at  the  Porte  de  Passy  not  later  than  three  o'clock.  It's 
now  twelve — you  can  do  it." 

"  I  will  do  it,  if  the  cat's  got  normal  propensities.  You 
say  the  beast's  name  is  Lamp " 

"  Lamia  !  "  corrects  de  Verney. 

"  All  right  !  Lamia  shall  be  ours,  if  beef  11  do  it !  " 
cries  Microbe,  who  goes  down  the  stairs,  forcing  the  cat's 
name  into  his  memory  by  forcing  it  into  doggerel  that  he 
hums  to  a  popular  opera-bouffe  air,  something  after  the 
following  : 

"  Lamia  !  eh,  Lamia  !  c her  petit  Lamia  / 
Un  morceau  de  boeuf,  attraper  le  chat !  " 


138  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Catching  this  extraordinary  ditty,  de  Verney  gives  a 
grin,  and  mutters,  "  Great  Lord !  to  think  that  my  plans 
depend  upon  a  cat's  appetite  ;  however,  the  digestions 
of  these  animals  are  pretty  generally  reliable,  thank 
heaven  !  " 

The  cat's  dinner  reminds  him  of  his  own  ;  for,  though 
he  usually  dines  at  seven,  to-day  he  makes  mid-day  his 
dinner-hour,  for  his  evening  meal  will  be  a  Spartan  one. 

This  being  finished,  and  Regnier,  whom  he  has  sent 
on  this  errand,  coming  in  and  reporting  that  the  Em- 
peror will  surely  be  accompanied  by  his  son  to  the  review 
in  the  afternoon,  Maurice  quietly  enjoys  his  cigar  and 
rests  till  about  two,  when  he  drives  out  to  the  Jardin 
d'Acclimatation  again. 

The  place  is  not  so  crowded  as  it  was  the  day  before  ; 
the  review  on  the  Terrain  de  St.  James,  hardly  half  a 
mile  distant,  has  drawn  away  most  of  the  sight-seers, 
the  flower-girl  probably  among  the  number.  He  asks  a 
few  casual  questions,  and  learns  that  Louise  has  not  as 
yet  been  here.  Even  while  doing  so,  he  catches  a  glimpse 
of  her  pretty  figure  coming  from  the  direction  of  the 
ground  upon  which  the  Prince  and  his  friends  played 
yesterday. 

She,  however,  does  not  come  quite  to  the  entrance  of 
the  garden,  but,  apparently  allured  by  the  stream  of  car- 
riages and  pedestrians  moving  along  the  Madrid  road  to 
the  reviewing-ground,  mingles  with  them,  and  is  lost  to 
his  view. 

Curious  to  know  what  can  have  taken  the  girl  so  much 
out  of  her  way,  when  she  knows  the  object  of  her  plot 
will  by  no  chance  visit  the  place  to-day  ;  Maurice,  taking 
care  Louise  has  passed  from  view,  strolls  up  through  the 
trees  and  thickets  to  the  scene  of  his  morning's  advent- 
ure, and  sees  with  some  concern  three  beautiful  red 
roses  among  the  wild-flowers  on  the  mound.  For  a 
moment  he  thinks  them  natural  ;  but  a  little  inspection 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  139 

proves  that  they  have  been  placed  there,  probably  in  the 
last  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  ;  for,  though  cut  flowers, 
they  have  not  as  yet  begun  to  droop  in  the  hot  after- 
noon sun.  He  immediately  opens  the  receptacle,  and 
very  cautiously  descends  into  it.  Everything  is  as  it 
was,  save  that  the  workmen's  lunch-basket  is  now  empty. 
Coming  out,  he  goes  away  meditative  and  puzzled, 
though  he  takes  care  to  leave  the  flowers  as  he  found 
them. 

Soon  after  this  he  strolls  to  the  review,  hoping  to  get 
some  clew  to  this  mystery  from  the  flower-girl  herself ; 
but  the  crowd  is  so  great  he  cannot  get  near  her,  though 
he  can  hear  the  people  cheer,  and  can  see  her,  from  a  dis- 
tance, present  the  gallant  boy,  who  has  observed  her  and 
galloped  to  her,  a  beautiful  bunch  of  roses. 

He  mutters  :  "  Giving  him  flowers,  and  yet  about  to 
do  to  death  the  pretty  child  she  smiles  on. — The  cursed 
hypocrite  !  "  This  business  hardens  his  heart  to  her,  and 
makes  him  capable  of  playing  the  scene  out  with  her  that 
he  does  later  in  the  afternoon. 

As  it  is,  he  now  remains  only  long  enough  to  be  sure 
that  the  Prince  returns  home  with  his  father  immediately 
after  the  review.  This  is  settled  by  the  imperial  party 
galloping  off  shortly  after  three  o'clock. 

As  soon  as  he  sees  this,  Maurice  walks  back  to  the 
Jardin  d'Acclimatation,  where  he  has  left  his  equipage, 
and  on  the  crowded  road,  among  other  venders  of  drinks 
for  the  thirsty,  meets  an  old,  dilapidated,  and  near- 
sighted coco-vender,  who  is  screaming  out  his  cry  a 
little  louder  and  more  wildly  than  the  rest. 

His  attention  is  called  to  this  personage  by  the  remark 
of  a  girl  near  him  :  "  I  don't  want  your  coco,  you  old 
crevt,  but  I'll  give  you  five  centimes  for  your  beautiful 
rose." 

This  is  answered  by  a  shake  of  the  head. 

Whereupon  the  young  lady  remarks  :  "  Do  you  hope 


140  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

to  catch  the  girls  with  it,  ancient  swell  of  the  Quartier 
Maubert  ? " 

Maurice  gives  a  little  laugh  at  this,  for  the  coco- 
vender's  costume  indicates  that  he  probably  has  bought 
his  clothes  from  rag-pickers,  though  his  apron  is  clean 
and  white.  The  next  moment  he  looks  closely  after  the 
man,  for  it  has  struck  him  that  the  rose  he  wears  is  the 
same  in  color  and  size  as  the  three  placed  upon  the 
hiding-spot  of  the  Prince. 

Maurice  thinks  he  would  like  another  look  at  the  spot, 
and,  turning  out  of  the  road,  after  a  little  walk,  arrives 
there,  to  find  but  two  roses  left,  and  that  the  place  has 
evidently  been  examined  by  some  one  else.  He  lights  a 
match  and  drops  it  into  the  hole  ;  it  burns  brightly  ;  the 
place  is  still  safe  to  descend.  He  does  so  again,  and  it 
is  as  he  left  it. 

Had  he  time,  he  would  now  follow  the  coco-vender; 
but  there  is  little  chance  of  his  finding  him  in  the 
crowd.  His  watch  shows  half-past  three  ;  if  de  Verney 
is  going  to  follow  his  projected  plan  of  action,  it  is  now 
time  he  met  Monsieur  Microbe  at  the  Porte  de  Passy. 
With  a  sigh  after  the  lost  merchant  of  drinks,  he  goes 
rapidly  to  the  garden,  gets  into  his  carriage,  and  speeds 
away  for  his  place  of  rendezvous  with  his  assistant. 

He  reaches  the  Porte  de  Passy,  and  can  hardly  refrain 
from  an  exclamation  of  annoyance;  for  he. can  nowhere 
see  young  Microbe,  whom  he  has  told  to  be  here  at  three 
o'clock.  It  is  now  four,  and  he  fears  he  has  failed  in  the 
errand  he  gave  him  to  do.  He  drives  out  of  the  Bois, 
and  has  gone  slowly  for  a  few  yards,  when  he  is  startled 
by  Microbe's  original  ditty  coming  to  his  ears  : 

"  Lamia  !  eh,  Lamia  !  c her  petit  Lamia  ! 
Un  morceau  de  bceuf,  attraper  le  chat !  " 

He  turns  suddenly  round,  and  a  moment  after  mutters 
to  himself  :  "  Mon  Dieu  !  but  the  fellow  is  an  artist  ;  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  141 

for,  as  near  the  gate  as  such  vehicles  are  permitted, 
stands  a  little  natty  butcher-cart,  drawn  by  a  Nor- 
mandy pony,  and  upon  the  seat  is  young  Ravel,  the 
butcher  boy,  with  a  grin  on  his  countenance. 

As  Maurice  approaches  him,  Monsieur  Microbe  calls 
out  cheerily  :  "  I've  got  him  !  " 

"  Up  there  !  "  says  Maurice,  grimly  pointing  to  a  string 
of  sausages  dangling  from  the  cart. 

"  No  ;  I  purchased  those  to  frighten  the  old  woman," 
laughs  Ravel.  Then  he  cries :  "  Do  you  recognize 
Lamia's  voice  ? "  and  pokes  a  bag  at  his  feet,  from  which 
come  dismal  feline  sounds. 

"No,"  replies  de  Verney  ;  "but  I  am  acquainted  by 
sight  with  Mr.  Lamia.  Let's  look  at  him;  for  I  must  be 
sure." 

"  All  right !  "  returns  the  butcher  boy  ;  and,  after  a 
moment's  struggle  and  some  scratching,  the  gray  head 
and  green  eyes  of  Lamia  make  their  appearance. 

In  the  light  these  latter  turn  red,  for  the  cat  is  evi- 
dently in  a  fearful  rage  at  the  indignities  he  has  suffered. 

"  How  did  you  catch  him  ? "  says  Maurice,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  I  angled  for  him  with  this  fish-hook  and  line  and  a 
little  piece  of  beef,"  remarks  Ravel.  "  I  worked  to  get 
the  beast  all  of  an  hour,  throwing  my  bait  over  the  back 
garden  hedge,  in  mortal  terror  that  giant  Auguste  would 
turn  up  unexpected,  as  he  did  last  night.  Thank  Heaven! 
I've  at  last  vanquished  one  member  of  the  infernal  Lie- 
ber  family  !  " 

This  last  he  emphasizes  with  a  poke  at  the  bag  con- 
taining the  unfortunate  Lamia. 

"  There's  no  danger  of  Auguste  being  home  before  six 
o'clock.  Regnier  reported  him  as  at  the  Gymnasium, 
training  for  the  event  to-night;  but  at  the  best,  we've  no 
time  to  lose.  Is  Regnier  on  watch  ?  I  ordered  him 
here.  Drive  on  after  me  !  "  replies  Maurice. 


142  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

And  the  two  move  along  to  the  entrance  of  the  Rue 
des  Vignes,  where  de  Verney  leaves  his  cab,  he  having 
used  a  hired  turn-out  to-day. 

He  walks  alongside  of  the  butcher-cart,  and  questions 
eagerly  : 

"  Did  the  old  lady  Lieber  see  you  ?  " 

"  No  !  " 

"  Does  she  suspect  anything  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  think  so  ;  but  from  her  actions  she  was 
getting  very  anxious  about  the  cat." 

*'  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  "  % 

"  Well,  she  walked  into  the  garden  every  few  minutes, 
and  at  last  called  out,  '  Lamia  ! ' ' 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  Then  the  cat  mewed,  and  I  was  afraid  she'd  hear 
it,  and  came  away.  But  here's  Regnier,  who  can  tell 
you  the  latest." 

"  The  old  woman  is  quite  excited,"  that  officer 
explains.  "  She  has  left  the  house  entirely,  and  is  walk- 
ing about  the  garden.  She  is  now  near  her  front  gate." 

"  Now  is  your  chance  !  Microbe,  do  just  as  I  told  you," 
says  Maurice  ;  for  by  this  time  they  have  come  near  to 
the  little  street  that  runs  from  the  Rue  des  Vignes  past 
the  home  of  Lieber,  the  florist. 

"  All  right !  "  cries  Ravel.     "  Watch  the  fun  !  " 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  Madame  Lieber's  anxious 
eyes,  a  few  moments  after  this,  catch  sight  of  a  butcher 
cart  coming  rapidly  past  her  front  gate.  She  pays  little 
attention  to  this,  being  wholly  engrossed  in  the  search  for 
her  lost  darling.  But,  as  the  cart  gets  opposite  to  her, 
she  hears  a  hideous  feline  yell  that  sounds  familiar,  and, 
looking  up,  sees,  with  mingled  rage  and  joy,  her  missing 
Lamia,  held  by  a  savage  butcher  boy. 

"  Gott  in  Himmel !  that  is  my  cat !  Give  him  me  at 
once  !  "  she  screams,  in  German. 

But  the  boy,  apparently  not  understanding   her  Ian- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  143 

guage,  gives  two  or  three  jeering  yells  in  reply,  and  drives 
rapidly  on. 

Not  waiting  even  for  her  bonnet,  with  mingled  cries 
of  endearment  for  Lamia  and  shouts  of  "  Stop  him  !  stop 
thief  !  "  in  her  patois,  mixed  with  sundry  German  oaths,  the 
old  woman  runs  in  pursuit,  the  cart  at  one  moment  rais- 
ing her  hopes  by  stopping  until  she  nearly  comes  up  to 
it,  then  the  boy  deriding  her,  laughing  in  her  face,  and 
driving  on  with  fiendish  yells. 

So  they  pass  out  of  sight,  the  tears  running  down  the 
old  woman's  wrinkled  and  dusty  cheeks  by  this  time,  and 
wild  imprecations  flying  from  her  mouth  at  every 
breath  ;  for  the  butcher-cart  and  string  of  dangling 
sausages  have  put  frightful  ideas  in  Madame  Lieber's 
head. 

"  Now  see  that  I'm  not  interrupted  without  warning," 
mutters  Maurice  to  Regnier  ;  and  walks  quickly  up  the 
path,  and  into  the  open  front  door. 

The  parlor  of  Lieber's  house  is  as  it  was  the  night 
before.  If  the  paper  he  wants  is  anywhere  about,  it  is 
either  in  Auguste's  or  the  girl's  bedroom.  He  passes 
quickly  up-stairs  and  enters  upon  his  work  ;  though  he 
mutters,  "  A  nice  employment  this  for  Maurice  de  Ver- 
ney  !  Jove  !  I  feel  like  a  burglar  " — still  he  goes  about 
his  search  rapidly  and  systematically. 

The  second  story  of  the  house  is  divided  into  a  hall 
and  two  bedrooms,  both  opening  from  it,  and  connected 
by  a  door  between  them.  Both  have  several  closets. 
He  goes  first  into  the  rear  apartment.  This  apparently 
belongs  to  Auguste,  as  it  has  none  of  those  adornments 
of  which  all  women,  even  of  the  middle  classes,  con- 
trive to  have  some.  There  are  no  articles  of  feminine 
apparel ;  the  room  contains  several  pairs  of  foils  and 
sabers,  boxing-gloves,  clubs,  and  the  implements  a  pro- 
fessional athlete  would  have  about  him. 

There  are  two  large  closets  connected  with  this  cham- 


144  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

ber.  These  Maurice  immediately  inspects,  making  a 
thorough  examination  of  the  clothes  in  them,  even  to 
their  linings,  but  obtains  no  result.  He  of  course  keeps 
a  special  lookout  for  the  cigarette  case  mentioned  the 
night  before,  feeling  pretty  sure  this  is  the  receptacle  of 
the  paper  needed  to  complete  the  cipher.  A  systematic 
search  of  this  whole  room  gives  him  but  one  thing  of  any 
value,  and  that  is  a  short  letter  telling  Lieber  to  draw 
upon  some  German  society  of  which  he  is  apparently  a 
member,  and  which  for  some  reason  or  other  gives  him 
a  pension  or  endowment. 

This  Maurice  at  present  dare  not  keep,  though  he 
makes  a  hurried  memorandum  of  the  leading  points  in  it. 

All  this  has  taken  some  time  ;  he  now  hurries  to  the 
other  bedroom.  There  can  be  no  doubt  it  is  the  cham- 
ber of  Louise  ;  but  did  ever  the  room  of  a  working-girl 
present  such  a  picture  of  refinement,  almost  luxury?  The 
windows  are  draped  with  lace  curtains  ;  the  bed,  with  its 
neat  white  counterpane  and  pillows  trimmed  with  inser- 
tion, is  almost  covered  with  an  evening  dress,  laid  out  for 
the  opera  this  evening,  the  girl  having  apparently  made 
these  preparations  before  she  knew  that  Lieber  would 
to-night  have  the  opportunity,  he  had  so  longed  for,  of 
meeting  the  masked  wrestler. 

This  toilet  is  a  mass  of  fleecy  muslin  of  the  finest  kind, 
and,  trimmed  with  lace  as  it  is,  would  make  the  girl  the 
beauty  of  the  opera-house. 

"  Egad  !  I  mustn't  look  at  this ;  I've  no  time  for 
romance  now  !  "  mutters  de  Verney,  and  proceeds  with 
a  search  that  he  feels  is  almost  desecration  ;  though  he 
forces  this  from  his  mind  by  the  idea  that  she  is  at  heart 
an  assassin. 

But  let  him  examine  as  he  will  ;  there  is  so  far  nothing 
here  that  would  even  give  rise  to  a  suspicion,  save  two 
or  three  innocent  household  memoranda  in  the  same 
handwriting  as  that  of  the  cipher  letters  ;  though,  curi- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  145 

ously  enough,  these  are  all  written  in  full  German  text, 
showing  that  the  appearance  of  the  Latin  letters  in  Louise's 
penmanship  was  no  matter  of  accident  or  carelessness. 

These  spur  him  on,  and  he  continues  his  investigation 
thoroughly  and  carefully ;  replacing  everything  with 
minute  inspection,  so  as  to  leave  no  trace  of  his  visit 
behind  him. 

Toward  the  last  he  is  rewarded  by  one  little  discovery, 
and  that  is  a  memorandum  corresponding  to  the  address 
of  the  letters  sent  the  chemist  Hermann  at  Berlin. 

He  now  feels  absolutely  sure  of  his  suspicions,  and 
thinks  he'll  find  something  further  ;  but  is  at  last  com- 
pelled to  desist  in  despair.  He  hurriedly  arranges  every- 
thing, and  looks  at  his  watch.  It  is  a  quarter  to  six. 

He  mutters,  "  Great  heavens  !  I  must  get  out  immedi- 
ately," and  is  moving  to  the  door,  when  his  heart  nearly 
stops  beating  !  He  hears  a  woman's  voice  in  the  hall 
below.  It  is  that  of  Louise.  He  listens  for  a  moment. 

She  is  coming  up-stairs. 

Some  people  have  instinct,  others  have  reason.  De 
Verney  has  both.  Instinct  dominates  him  now.  He 
hastily  scrawls  on  one  of  his  cards,  "  Louise,  I  love  you  !  " 
places  it  on  her  dressing-table,  and  steps  into  a  large 
closet. 

As  he  does  so,  the  door  opens  and  the  girl  comes 
quickly  in,  carrying  two  red  roses  in  her  hand. 

He  has  left  the  door  of  his  closet  slightly  open,  so  that 
he  can  see  what  she  does  ;  and,  as  he  looks  at  her,  reason 
comes  to  him  and  tells  him  that  instinct  had  prompted 
him  correctly. 

There  are  only  two  logical  reasons  for  his  being  where 
'  he  is  at  this  time  :  One,  that  he  is  in  search  of  evidence 
against  these  conspirators  (the  moment  they  guessed 
such  a  thing,  any  chance  of  obtaining  his  proof  would  be 
at  an  end)  ;  the  other,  that  he  is  now  lured  by  the  charms 
of  the  flower-girl,  and  willing  to  make  a  villain  of  himself 

10 


146  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

at  the  promptings  of  his  passion.  Had  he  loved  Louise, 
he  could  never  have  let  her  think  him  such  a  creature ; 
but,  as  he  does  not,  he  mutters  to  himself:  "  It  is  charming 
to  be  heroic,  it  is  better  to  be  successful ; "  and,  quieting 
any  conscience  on  the  matter  with  the  thought  that, 
against  one  who  would  plot  the  murder  of  a  boy,  any  ruse 
is  permissible,  he  stands  ready,  if  necessary,  to  play  the 
rfile  of  Don  Juan  in  the  drama  before  him. 

While  he  is  thinking,  the  girl  has  tossed  her  hat  upon  a 
chair  and  her  roses  on  her  dressing-table,  and  stood,  a 
beautiful  statue  of  meditation.  For  this  summery  day  she 
is  dressed  in  white  muslin,  that,  unextended  by  the  crino- 
line, just  driven  out  of  fashion,  drapes  and  displays  the 
contours  of  her  exquisite  figure  as  if  it  were  a  robe  of 
Greece.  But  now,  as  he  gazes,  she  suddenly  becomes  an 
image  of  despair  ;  a  peculiar  expression  comes  into  her 
face,  that  makes  it  awful  to  look  upon.  She  mutters,  "  To- 
morrow !  to-morrow  !  "  each  syllable  being  a  choking 
sob,  that  would  change  into  a  spasm  of  convulsive  weep- 
ing did  she  not  fight  it  down  and  change  it  into  a  wild 
opera-bouffe  chorus  that  she  sings,  as  if  it  drowns  thought 
and  she  were  afraid  to  stop  it  ;  for  she  repeats  it  again 
and  again,  till,  having  conquered  herself  by  music,  she 
proceeds  to  the  duties  of  the  toilet,  and  has  half  let  down 
her  hair,  that  falls  in  mottled  red  and  gold  below  her 
waist,  when  the  chevalier  hears  her  utter  a  little  cry,  and 
sees  her  pick  up  his  card. 

Turning  this  over  in  her  hand,  she  seems  to  meditate  ; 
then  gazes  quickly  around  the  room  in  a  startled  way 
and  looks  at  the  card  again,  making  a  very  pretty  and 
coquettish  picture,  de  Verney  thinks. 

For,  with  the  setting  sun  coming  in  the  window  and 
illumining  her  brilliant  face,  her  white  arm,  from  which 
the  sleeve  has  partly  fallen,  holding  to  the  light  the 
declaration  upon  which  she  gazes,  half  pleased,  half 
afraid — perhaps  half  tempted — Louise  might  be  likened 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  147 

to  Eve  looking  at  the  apple  before  she  threw  away  im- 
mortal beauty  for  a  taste  of  it. 

Thinking  this,  Maurice  mutters  to  himself  :  "  Now, 
Mr.  Serpent,  don't  forget  your  cunning !  "  steps  lightly 
from  his  hiding  place,  steals  unobserved  behind  her, 
clasps  her  lithe  waist  with  his  arm,  and  whispers  in  her 
ear  the  song  the  serpent  sang  to  our  first  sinner — "/ 
love  you!"  and  finds  an  Eve  much  more  prudent  than 
our  first  mother. 

For  a  moment  the  startled  girl  turns  deadly  pale,  and 
is  about  to  cry  out ;  next,  conquering  this  by  an  effort, 
a  deep-red  blush  flies  over  her  face  and  neck.  Then  she 
whispers  piteously  :  "  Are  you  like — all  the  rest  ?  "  and, 
giving  him  one  reproachful  look  and  one  deep  sigh, 
droops  her  head  despairingly  on  her  bosom  ;  and  after  a 
moment's  pause  mutters,  "  and  I  loved  you  !  " 

Astonished,  overwhelmed  with  shame — for  Maurice  is 
not  a  man  who  could  wantonly  insult  any  woman,  even  a 
murderess — de  Verney  forgets  he  is  acting,  and  stammers 
out :  "  You — you  mistake,  Mademoiselle  Louise.  I  am 
not  like  all  the  rest." 

"  Mistake  !  is  this  a  mistake  ?  "  she  cries,  turning  upon 
him  and  holding  up  his  card.  "  And  you  came  here  to 
— to  cruelly  insult  me — when  I  thought  you  better, 
braver,  nobler  than  the  rest  !  My  God  !  is  there  a  true 
man  on  earth?"  and  the  girl  pants  and  sobs  as  if  in 
despair. 

"  I — mademoiselle — I  !  "  gasps  Maurice,  carried  off  his 
feet  by  her  apparent  suffering  ;  but  he  gets  no  further,  for 
Louise  grasps  his  arm  and  with  white  lips  whispers  : 

"  Hush  !  "  as  Lieber's  heavy  step  is  heard  below. 

A  moment  after,  Auguste  calls  out  gruffly  for  his 
mother. 

"  My  God  !  he'll  kill  us  both,"  gasps  the  girl. 

"  Have  no  fear,"  whispers  de  Verney.  "  I  will  pro- 
tect you,  mademoiselle,  from  my  folly  !  " 


148  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  But  yourself  !  "  mutters  Louise.  A  moment  after  she 
says,  "Quick!  lean  arrange  it,"  and  motions  Maurice 
to  step  back  into  the  closet. 

This  the  chevalier  does,  silently  and  quickly,  as  Lieber's 
step  can  be  heard  ascending  the  stairs,  and  the  Alsacian 
shouts  out  : 

"Louise,  no  opera  to-night!  I've  news  for  you, 
Louise  !  " 

"  I'm  here,  Auguste  ! "  cries  the  girl  ;  and,  closing  the 
door  on  Maurice,  she  goes  to  meet  her  guardian,  who  is 
already  in  the  hall  just  outside.  Cautiously  working  the 
door  slowly  open  again,  de  Verney,  who  has  regained  his 
senses  now  he  is  away  from  the  passion  and  despair  of 
Louise,  contrives  to  hear  the  following  : 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  says  the  ward. 

"  First,  give  me  a  kiss  for  the  good  news  I  bring  ! " 
cries  the  guardian. 

"  Good  news  !    What  news  ?  " 

"  First,  the  kiss  !  " 

"  There  !     What  news  ?  " 

"To-night  the  masked  wrestler  has  forgotten  I'm  in 
towrn." 

"  Pish  !  Is  that  your  news  ?  "  says  the  girl,  disgusted. 
A  moment  after,  Maurice  catches  the  words  :  "  Don't  do 
it — think  of  the  risk  !  "  for  they  are  walking  along  the 
hall  away  from  him. 

Then  Lieber  cries  out,  "  What  risk  ?  I'll  make  his 
bones  rattle  !  " 

"  Then  give  it  to  me  !  "  comes  to  him,  in  Louise's 
voice. 

"  Not  at  all  !  What  a  woman  you  are  !  It  never  leaves 

me "  And  the  conversation,  which  has  gradually 

grown  fainter  to  his  ears,  now  subsides  into  a  mur- 
mur he  cannot  distinguish,  for  they  are  at  the  other  end 
of  the  hall  from  Maurice  ;  though  the  last  words  have 
been  those  that  have  left  him  in  a  very  good  temper. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  149 

A  few  moments  after  this,  Lieber's  steps  go  down  the 
stairs,  and  die  away  in  the  distance.  Then  Louise  throws 
open  the  door,  and  remarks  :  "  I've  sent  him  to  look 
for  his  mother,  in  the  back  garden.  Now,  if  you  please, 
Monsieur  Maurice,  we  will  continue  our  conversation  on 
the  doorstep.  It  will  look  as  if  you  just  left  the  card  by 
which  you  have  honored  me."  She  gives  him  another 
reproachful  look,  gazes  at  his  declaration,  sighs,  places  it 
in  her  bosom,  and  runs  down  the  stairs  to  the  front  of  the 
house,  with  de  Verney  following  her  and  wondering  at 
her. 

At  the  portal,  she  says:  "  Just  slip  outside  ;  it  will 
seem  as  if  you  had  but  now  arrived." 

And  the  chevalier  doing  so,  she  continues  : 

"  I  am  sorry  we  cannot  use  your  opera-box  to-night. 
Auguste  insists  that  I  see  him  conquer  Fhomme  masque. 
Monsieur  Lieber  can  hardly  accompany  me  to  Les 
Arenes.  He  has  tickets  for  a  box.  Will  not  you  do 
me  the  honor  to  escort  me  this  evening,  monsieur — 
Maurice  ? "  This  last  with  a  little  moue  of  entreaty. 

"I  would  like  to  accept,"  says  de  Verney,  as,  in  truth, 
he  would,  the  moue  being  very  alluring  ;  "but  I  have  an 
engagement  it  is  impossible  to  break." 

"  Impossible  ! — and  you  love  me  ? "  she  mutters  ;  and 
there  are  tears  in  her  eyes  that  make  Maurice  disgusted 
with  his  action  this  afternoon,  and  delighted  when  Lieber 
suddenly  turns  the  front  of  the  house,  and,  seeing  him, 
calls  out  suspiciously,  "  Ha  !  you  are  getting  as  regular 
as  our  dinner." 

"  Monsieur  de  Verney  came,"  remarks  Louise  rapidly, 
"  to  show  me  this  account  of  the  punishment  of  the  crwe 
who  insulted  me.  It  is  quite  funny.  The  villain  received 
three  months  with  hard  labor. "  And,  to  Maurice's  aston- 
ishment, this  very  truthful  young  lady  produces  from  her 
pocket  and  reads  aloud  a  copy  of  Le  Temps  of  that  even- 
ing, which  has  quite  a  humorous  report  of  Monsieur 


150  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Microbe's  interview  with  the  judge.  In  which,  after  vari- 
ous displays  of  wit  on  both  sides,  the  official  had  said, 
"  Three  months  with  hard  labor  !  "  and  the  condamtie, 
with  hideous  effrontery,  had  replied  :  "  Bet  you,  judge, 
you  don't  mean  it." 

Upon  hearing  this,  Maurice,  who  sees  a  point  in  Mon- 
sieur Microbe's  words  that  the  others  do  not,  gives  way  to 
a  burst  of  laughter. 

"  You  are  merry,  monsieur,"  remarks  Lieber ;  "  so  am 
I.  I'm  going  to  have  some  fun  with  an  aristocrat 
to-night.  But  we  must  have  dinner  now,  and  I  do  not 
find  mother  here  to  make  it.  Louise,  you  must  help  me. 
Come  in  and  start  the  fire  at  once  !  " 

With  this,  that  gentleman  goes  into  the  house,  giving 
the  girl  the  chance  for  a  few  parting  words  with  Maurice. 
She  says,  pointedly :  "  I  hope  your  engagement  for  this 
evening  will  be  a  pleasant  one,"  but  holds  out  her  hand 
to  him  in  apparent  forgiveness  ;  and  he,  striving  to  enact 
his  character  of  Lovelace,  gives  it  a  squeeze.  This  she 
returns,  and  murmurs  :  "  You  have  forgotten  the  passport 
you  promised  for  Madame  Lieber  and  servant  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  no  !  "  replies  the  chevalier;  "  I  only  promised 
them  by  to-morrow." 

"  And  you  will  have  them  surely  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well — I  rely  on  you.  If  you  are  driving  to  the 
Bois  to-morrow  afternoon,  you  can  give  it  to  me  at  two." 

"You  may  rely  on  me  to-morrow,"  says  de  Verney, 
with  more  point  to  his  speech  than  he  intends  to 
give  it. 

As  he  walks  down  the  path,  he  thinks  :  "  I  am  not  good 
at  playing  the  role  of  villain  ;  "  and,  arriving  at  the  gate, 
sees  Madame  Lieber,  worn  out,  weary,  and  dusty,  make  her 
appearance  in  the  distance,  carrying  the  lost  Lamia  in 
her  arms. 

This  reminds  him  of  Monsieur  Regnier.     After  passing 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  151 

some  distance  along  the  Rue  des  Vignes,  that  officer 
timidly  joins  him. 

"  Why  did  you  not  signal  me  of  the  return  of  Made- 
moiselle Louise  ?  "  asks  Maurice,  sternly. 

"  I — I  was  looking  the  other  way,  for  the  old  woman  ; 
and  the  girl  was  so  near  me  before  I  discovered  her  that, 
if  I  had  made  any  sign,  she  would  have  surely  seen  it." 

"  You  did  quite  right,  under  the  circumstances  ;  my 
discovery,  as  it  happened,  produced  good  instead  of  harm 
this  time — only  keep  your  eyes  about  you  the  next !  Jump 
in,  and  drive  into  town  with  me,"  says  de  Verney;  for  they 
have  come  to  the  end  of  the  street  where  he  left  his  cab 
waiting. 

Arriving  at  the  Rue  d'Hautville,  he  is  met  at  his  door 
by  Frangois,  with  a  very  solemn  face,  contorted  by  a  grin 
struggling  to  break  loose  from  it ;  who  says  grimly,  with  a 
peculiar  gesture  of  his  thumb  toward  the  dining-room  : 
"  He's  in  the  kitchen  this  time  !  " 

"  Who  ?  "  cries  Maurice,  striding  into  that  room.  But 
here  he  gets  a  shock  :  an  awful  caricature  of  a  butcher- 
boy,  his  shirt  torn  in  ribbons  off  his  back,  his  dusty  face 
clawed  into  long  red  streaks  of  alternate  gore  and  skin, 
rises  up  before  him  and  shrieks  :  "  Look  at  me  now  ! 
This  is  worse  than  the  Mabille  suit !  " 

After  a  struggle  that  nearly  suffocates  him,  de  Verney, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  gasps  :  "  You  are  killing  me  !  "  and 
sinks  into  a  chair. 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me  !  "  screams  Microbe.  "  Don't  dare 
laugh  at  me  !  This  is  too  horrible  for  mirth  !  "  and  he 
utters  wild  imprecations. 

"  Did  he  catch  you  again  ? "  gasps  Maurice 

"  No,  but  she  did.  The  mother  !  She  is  worse  than  the 
son  !  Curse  those  Liebers  !  " 

"  Please — tell — me — all — about — it,"  says  Maurice 
softly,  as  if  in  fear  of  letting  his  feelings  run  away  with 
him. 


152  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Well,  I  left,  as  you  saw,  the  old  woman  in  hot  cry 
after  me,  and  took  her,  through  every  quiet  street  I  could 
find,  to  Auteuil,  then  by  the  Rue  d'Erlanger,  across  the 
Avenue  de  Versailles,  and  down  the  river,  giving  the 
madame  some  lovely  water  views,  as  far  as  Belle vne — she 
shrieking  and  screaming  all  the  way,  but  I  encouraging 
her,  every  now  and  again,  by  letting  her  get  almost  in 
grabbing  distance  of  Lamia,  then  jabbering  at  her  and 
going  on  with  a  rush.  I — I  never  enjoyed  anything  so 
much  in  my  life  !  Having  got  her  so  far  that  she'd  never 
get  back  in  time  to  disturb  you,  I  should  have  flung  her 
cursed  cat  into  the  street,  driven  on,  and  ended  the  affair  ; 
but,  idiot  that  I  was  !  I  thought  I'd  have  a  little  more 
amusement — a  farewell  set-to  with  the  old  lady.  She 
looked  exhausted,  and  I  let  her  overtake  me " 

"  And  then  ? "  suggests  Maurice  ;  for  Microbe  has  sud- 
denly paused. 

"  Then  !  "  he  cries.  "  Can't  you  see  ?  I  don't  like  to 
talk  about  it !  That  old  hag,  instead  of  grabbing  the 
cat,  grabbed  me  ;  and,  man  Dieu !  look  how  she  clawed 
me  !  "  pointing  to  the  red  marks  on  his  face.  "  Behold 
my  head  !  "  and  he  tears  off  his  cap  and  shows  Maurice  a 
sight  which  sends  him  into  convulsions  ;  for  the  old  lady 
has  torn  out  half  his  hair,  and  her  victim  is  now  tufted 
in  a  manner  wonderful  to  behold,  and  ludicrous  to  look 
upon. 

"  Did  you  not  resist  her  ? "  ejaculates  the  chevalier, 
after  forcing  himself  to  calmness. 

"  Resist  her !  She's  stronger  than  her  son,  and  has 
claws  of  steel  —  the  old  hag!  Curse  the  Liebers  !  " 
howls  Ravel,  half  in  rage,  half  in  despair  ;  for  he  has 
just  caught  sight  of  himself  in  a  mirror.  "  What  money 
could  repair  my  beauty  ? " 

"  My  poor  Microbe  !  "  murmurs  Maurice.  "  As  you 
say,  money  will  not  buy  you  a  new  skin.  As  soon  as  you 
have  washed  your  face,  I  shall  send  you  to  the  hospital." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  153 

"  To  the  hospital  !  Am  I  as  bad  as  that  ?  "  cries  the 
young  detective,  jumping  up.  "  For  what  ?  " 

"  To  arrange  for  the  reception  of  Auguste  Lieber !  " 
remarks  de  Verney,  dryly.  "  He  may  need  medical 
attendance  this  evening." 

"  Ah,  God  bless  you  !  You  are  going  to  avenge  me  ! " 
cries  the  volatile  Microbe,  cutting  a  caper.  "  Give  him 
two  to-night,  Monsieur  Maurice — one  for  my  Mabille 
suit,  and  one  for  his  mother  !  " 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE    SALLE    LES    ARENES    ON    THE    RUE    LE    PELETIER. 

MICROBE  goes  on  his  errand,  and  Maurice  glances 
over  the  reports  of  Messrs.  Marcillac  and  Jolly.  These 
are  what  he  expected  and  hoped  for  ;  the  German  chemist 
has  not  returned  to  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge,  and  nothing 
of  interest  has  taken  place  at  the  flower  kiosk.  Auguste 
Lieber  has  performed  his  usual  duties  there  till  about 
two  in  the  afternoon,  and  has  then  departed.  Being 
followed,  he  has  gone  to  a  gymnasium  patronized  mostly 
by  Germans  ;  but  at  this  place  has  hardly  spoken  to  any 
one,  and  for  two  hours  has  devoted  himself  to  light 
exercises,  calculated  to  put  him  in  condition  for  the 
coming  struggle.  He  has  then  returned  to  his  house  at 
Passy,  apparently  communicating  with  no  one. 

All  this  indicates  he  still  has  the  paper  Maurice  wants  ; 
and  the  few  words  of  his  conversation  with  Louise,  that 
de  Verney's  ears  caught  while  he  was  in  hiding,  indicate 
he  means  to  still  keep  it  on  his  person.  "  It's  to-night  or 
never  !  "  murmurs  Maurice  between  clinched  teeth,  that 
say  he  has  determined  it  shall  be  to-night ! 

Thinking  these  thoughts,  after  a  very  light  meal,  de 
Verney  sits  down,  lazily  smoking  his  after-dinner  cigar, 
and  looking  out  from  his  windows  upon  night,  as  it 
descends  on  Paris. 

The  darkness  that  should  now  come  upon  the  city  is 
driven  off  by  myriads  of  flaming  gas-lights,  that  make  its 
streets  and  boulevards  one  brilliant  yellow  glow.  The 
sleep  that  should  make  it  quiet  and  silent  is  replaced  by 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  155 

excited  gayety ;  and,  as  the  night  grows  older,  the  city 
becomes  brighter  and  more  joyous. 

Over  there,  in  the  far-away  suburbs  of  Crenelle  and 
Montreuil,  bloused  workmen  groan  of  hard  times  and 
lack  of  bread  ;  for  the  building  era  of  Baron  Hauss- 
mann  has  now  passed  its  zenith,  and  money  is  scarce  with 
the  handlers  of  bricks  and  mortar  ;  and  in  the  Quartiers 
Montmartre  and  Belleville,  the  red-shirts  of  Messieurs 
Rochefort  and  Fleurens  are  uttering  their  cries  of  rage 
at  law  and  order,  and  grinding  their  knives  and  cleaning 
their  guns  for  work  two  years  from  now  ;  but  here,  near 
the  grand  boulevards,  there  is  naught  but  mirth,  joy, 
excitement,  and  brightness.  Parties  of  students  from 
the  Quartier  Latin  troop  through  the  streets,  to  dance  at 
the  Mabille  with  their  grisettes,  or  to  hear  Theresa  sing 
at  the  Alcazar,  or  to  the  Varietes,  where  Hortense 
Schneider  is  making  the  world  a  little  gayer — and  per- 
chance a  little  more  wicked — by  her  incomparable  droll- 
eries and  naughtinesses,  in  some  suggestive  opera  bouffe, 
some  musical  debauch  from  the  genius  of  Offenbach. 

The  cafes,  brilliant  within,  are  more  brilliant  without 
this  pleasant  April  night,  making  their  street-seats  most 
popular  with  the  crowd  of  pleasure-seekers  gathered  from 
the  four  quarters  of  the  world.  The  scene,  made  pictu- 
resque by  the  rich  toilets  of  their  own  fair  compatriots,  now 
becomes  dotted  here  and  there  by  magnificently  dressed 
cocottes,  who  are  pouring  down  from  the  Quartier  Breda 
for  their  evening  raid  upon  the  virtue  of  this  city,  which 
has  so  little.  The  streets  begin  to  fill  with  carriages 
carrying  their  occupants  to  the  theaters,  opera,  and 
places  of  amusement.  The  after-dinner  click  of  the 
champagne  corks  in  the  great  restaurants  on  the  boule- 
vards becomes  more  rapid  ;  the  waiters  fly  about  the 
cafes  more  vivaciously  ;  the  remarks  of  the  ladies  have 
more  chic  and  abandon.  The  absinthe  hour  is  growing 
nearer.  It  is  night  in  Paris — that  light-hearted,  laugh- 


156  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

ing  Paris,  now  running  its  butterfly  race  to  Metz  and 
Sedan,  its  siege  by  the  conquering  Teuton,  and  the  fan- 
tastic horrors  of  its  own  commune  ;  as  yet  happy  as  its 
absinthe-drinkers,  and  sparkling  as  its  own  popping 
champagne — on  its  journey  to  despair ;  this  opium- 
dream  capital,  this  Second  Empire  Paris  ;  this  Paris  that 
we  shall  never  see  again  on  earth — but  ah  !  how  much 
we'd  like  to  ! 

All  day,  in  front  of  Les  Arenes,  on  the  Rue  le  Peletier, 
there  has  been  a  crowd,  gradually  growing  larger  and 
more  excited  as  evening  draws  near.  Now  it  is  a  mob  of 
crushing,  struggling  human  beings ;  for  the  doors  have 
been  opened,  and  those  who  have  no  seats  secured  are 
fighting,  like  Frenchmen  and  demons,  for  some  point  of 
vantage  from  whence  they  can  see  that  small  oval  arena, 
in  which  to-night  will  appear  the  object  of  their  longings, 
hopes,  and  fears.  For  when  this  unknown  wrestled  and 
conquered,  with  him,  in  kindly  sympathy,  wrestled  and 
conquered  all  Paris  who  saw  him— from  the  titled  lady  in 
the  boxes,  whose  brilliant  eyes  flashed  love  and  longing 
through  her  heavy  veil,  to  the  Paris  gamin  in  the  upper 
gallery,  who  had  sneaked  there  past  the  ticket-taker,  in  the 
crush,  and  who  expressed  his  joy  with  one  small  com- 
ponent part  of  that  mighty  yell,  when  their  champion 
brought  his  man,  shoulders  and  hip,  to  mother  earth,  that 
trembled  with  the  howl  above  it. 

And  now,  in  this  struggling  mass,  carriages  begin  to 
appear  ;  some  coming  from  the  Italian  opera,  where  their 
owners  have  listened  to  an  act  of  Sonnambula,  trembling 
lest  they  miss  a  little  of  the  athletic  feast,  from  which 
even  the  voice  of  Adelina  Patti  at  her  zenith  cannot 
charm  their  souls !  About  this  time,  the  police  make 
short  work  of  the  crowd  who  have  no  tickets  and  can't 
get  in  ;  for  up-stairs  the  place  is  crowded  to  the  entrances 
with  one  mass  of  humanity,  too  closely  packed  to  do 
much  more  than  gasp  for  breath  and  strain  their  eyes 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  157 

upon  the  ring,  as  if  the  very  sawdust  in  it  were  a  matter 
of  intense  and  holding  interest.  A  few  of  the  more  adven- 
turous dispute  with  the  little  orchestra,  now  tuning 
their  fiddles,  the  use  of  the  minute  gallery  that  belongs 
to  it.  From  this  place  now  issues  most  horrid  music,  a 
number  of  the  performers  having  been  bribed,  by  well- 
known  boulevardiers,  to  surrender  their  places  and  instru- 
ments to  them.  Upon  these  instruments  these  intruders 
cannot  play  a  note;  consequently,  the  selections  of 
Verdi,  Rossini,  and  Offenbach,  intended  to  enliven  the 
evening,  are  produced  with  such  barbarous,  weird,  and 
unearthly  strains,  that  a  boy  in  the  gallery  makes  a 
mistake,  and  cries  out,  "  DOWN  WITH  WAGNER!  "  Hap- 
pily for  the  manager,  the  crowd  do  not  notice  this. 
They  have  no  ears ;  this  evening  they  •  have  only 
eyes. 

As  for  the  lower  circle,  every  standing-place  in  it  is 
black  with  dress-coats ;  and  the  reserved  boxes  are  filling 
rapidly  up,  for  a  line  of  carriages  is  now  giving  out 
half  the  celebrities  of  Paris,  "  mondaine  and  demi-mon- 
daine  "/ 

Madame  La  Duchesse,  of  the  Faubourg,  is  jostled  by 
Cora  Pearl,  of  the  Rue  du  Helder ;  and  the  two  squeeze 
past  the  door-keeper  shoulder  to  shoulder,  they  are  so 
eager  ;  Dumas,  the  great  novelist,  is  sandwiched  with  little 
Murteur,  the  critic,  whom  he  hates  and  despises,  and  who 
in  return  hates  him,  because  he  envies  him  ;  while  Mr. 
Bower,  the  great  English  jockey,  treads  on  the  corns  of 
a  minister  of  France,  and  mutters  :  "  The  old  spavin  !  I 
took  the  post  from  'im,  decorations  and  hall  !  " 

So  all  those  who  can  get  in,  come  in — Sophie  de  Mer- 
rincourt,  whispering  through  her  veil  to  Diane  de  Brissac  : 
"  Look  at  the  crowd  !  let  us  bless  heaven  that  Henri  had 
a  hundred  louis  and  a  good  temper  last  night ;  otherwise 
we'd  be  like  poor  Madame  de  Belleisle,  in  despair  and 
at  home." 


158  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"Yes,"  laughs  Diane;  u  her  husband,  the  marquis, 
to  keep  her  quiet,  told  her  he  was  the  masked  wrestler 
himself,  and  she  could  see  him  en  famille." 

At  this,  the  fair  Sophie  gives  a  shriek  of  laughter,  and 
screams  :  "  Mon  Dieu  !  the  marquis  is  seventy  !  " 

"And  paralyzed  !  That's  where  the  joke  comes  in  !  " 
giggles  La  Baronne  de  Brissac. 

Here,  Monsieur  de  Merrincourt,  who  has  been  deposit- 
ing his  overcoat  at  the  back  of  the  box,  comes  behind 
his  wife,  and  says  :  "  I  caught  your  remarks  about  the 
hundred  louis.  I  can  afford  it ;  I  wagered  to-day  at  the 
Jockey  Club  one  thousand  with  Le  Prince  Dimitri  Men- 
chikoff,  that  he  would  be  thrown  in  less  than  twenty 
minutes !  " 

"  I'll  take  half  of  that  bet  !  "  cries  Sophie  eagerly. 

"  And  I  the  other  half  !  "  says  Diane. 

"  No,  thank  you  !  "  remarks  Sophie's  husband.  "  It's 
good  enough  to  keep  for  myself  ;  but  if  I  win,  we'll  have 
a  supper  at  the  Anglais." 

"  We'll  have  a  supper  anyway,"  says  Sophie.  "  But 
who  is  that  girl  opposite  us — the  one  in  the  dark  dress 
— the  one  with  the  eyes  ?  " 

"  By  Jove  !  Don't  you  know  ?  "  remarks  her  husband. 
"  That's  Louise  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  There  is  a  suspicious  sniff  from  his  wife. 
"  Louise  !  and  who  is  Louise  ?  " 

"  Louise  is  the  flower-girl  who  has  caught  the  Prince 
Imperial  —  and,  I  am  told,  your  admiration,  Monsieur 
Maurice  de  Verney,  also  !  " 

There  is  a  sudden  flush  of  annoyance  on  Sophie's  face, 
and  she  puts  up  her  opera-glass  to  take  a  look  at  the 
woman  whose  beauty  she  has  heard  about. 

By  this  time  there  are  many  more  glasses  on  the  girl, 
who  sits  there,  playing  nervously  with  a  single  rose-bud 
she  holds  in  her  hand,  so  anxious  that  she  does  not 
notice  the  attention  she  excites — but  waits  and  waits 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  159 

impatiently  for  what  she  loves  to  see — the  sight  of  two 
strong  men  battling  like  tigers  ! 

The  crowd  is  now  buzzing  also  with  suppressed  impa- 
tience. As  a  sop  to  them,  several  professional  wrestlers 
struggle  for  their  plaudits,  and,  though  men  of  magnifi- 
cent muscle,  who  would  be  favorites  were  it  not  for  the 
mighty  one  of  whom  they  are  but  the  heralds,  are  looked 
on  with  indifference,  almost  contempt.  Les  deux  Mar- 
seilles, aim  and  jeune,  contest  with  Lebceuf  and  the  negro 
from  Hayti,  James  le  Noir — whom  Mr.  Higgins,  from 
Boston,  who  has  just  entered  with  his  American  friends, 
irreverently  calls  "  Black  Jemmy  " — and  hardly  gain  a 
plaudit  during  their  bouts,  save  a  few  at  the  end,  to  show 
them  the  crowd  is  glad  they  are  finished.  All  this  time  the 
boxes  are  filling  up  with  gay  parties,  who  have  deserted 
the  theaters  and  the  operas,  and  even  abbreviated  their 
dinners. 

But  now,  the  last  of  these  preliminary  contests  being 
finished,  a  great  sigh  of  relief  goes  up  all  over  the  place, 
from  this  mass  of  bottled-up  excitement  and  hermetically 
sealed  passion.  Then  the  crowd  become  silent  as  death. 

Looking  over  the  place,  Louise  sees  an  oval  arena, 
between  fifty  and  seventy-five  feet  long,  and  less  than 
the  former  distance  wide,  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  men 
in  evening  dress,  among  them  some  whose  names  are 
still  great  in  the  history  of  the  world,  in  science,  art, 
literature,  and  politics  ;  others,  who  were  never  known 
outside  their  own  particular  sets  ;  some  not  known  at  all 
— representatives  of  every  nationality  found  that  day  in 
Paris.  Behind  them,  in  the  boxes,  is  an  equal  mixture  of 
everything  feminine :  belles  from  the  Faubourgs  St. 
Honore  and  St.  Germain,  actresses  from  the  theaters,  and 
cocottes  from  all  over  the  world  ;  and,  above  all  this,  one 
great,  black  mass  of  squeezed -in  humanity,  save  where  its 
color  is  enlivened  by  the  red  shirt  of  an  Italian  or  blue 
blouse  of  a  French  workingman. 


l6o  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

This  arena  has  an  entrance  directly  opposite  the  main 
one  to  the  building — the  one  through  which  the  contest- 
ants enter  and  pass  out ;  upon  this,  each  face  in  that 
whole  multitude  is  turned,  each  eye  is  glued. 

Up-stairs  not  a  word  is  spoken  ;  even  in  the  boxes  the 
most  inveterate  of  women  gabblers — those  who  would 
jabber  at  the  opera,  through  the  most  divine  sounds  the 
genius  of  man  ever  created  and  the  genius  of  woman 
ever  expressed — are  silent,  save,  perhaps,  an  occasional 
whisper  under  their  breath.  And  so  they  wait. 

Impressed  with  all  this,  Mr.  Freddy  Higgins,  wishing 
to  make  an  effect,  remarks  to  one  of  his  fair  American 
compatriots  :  "  By  Jove,  Miss  Sallie,  if  this  mania  keeps 
in  fashion,  I'm  going  in  for  athletics  myself  !  " 

At  which  the  young  lady,  who  is  eminently  practical, 
and  a  graduate  of  Vassar,  looks  him  over,  and  says  : 
"  Bet  you  an  even  hundred,  Freddy,  I  can  toss  you  in  our 
parlor  when  we  come  home  from  the  show.  My  sister'll 
see  fair  play." 

Any  answer  to  this  is  cut  short  by  an  electric  ripple 
that  goes  like  a  wave  through  the  audience.  The  ladies 
crowd  to  the  front  of  their  boxes,  the  men  leaning 
eagerly  over  their  shoulders.  Even  those  great  dames 
of  fashion,  who  have,  till  now,  kept  in  comparative  seclu- 
sion, forget  all  but  that  they  are  animals,  like  the  rest ; 
and  crowd  nearer  to  the  arena,  pushing  their  veils  aside, 
that  their  eyes  may  feast  the  easier  on  the  tremendous 
animal  whose  sport  they  love  to  see. 

A  gentleman  in  evening  dress  steps  to  the  middle  of 
the  arena,  and  says,  in  ringing  tones :  "  L'HOMME 
MASQUE  !" 

A  moment  after,  he  comes  in. 

Stepping  lightly  to  the  center  of  the  ring,  he  salutes 
the  audience  gracefully,  and,  save  one  grand  sigh  of 
recognition,  they  are  still  silent,  devouring  him  with 
their  eyes. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  l6l 

This  is  a  pause  that  no  one  but  an  American  girl  would 
break.  Miss  Sallie  leans  back  to  young  Higgins,  and 
whispers,  with  a  tone  of  disappointment  :  "  I  thought  you 
said  he  wrestled  in  tights  !  " 

"  So  he  does  !  " 

"  Then  I  wish  he'd  take  off  his  coat.  I'd  like  to  size 
him  up." 

For  his  face  is  the  only  part  of  him  visible  for  the 
present ;  and  the  upper  part  of  that  is  covered  with  a 
black  mask,  under  which  the  eyes  flash  brilliantly  as  he 
turns  his  head,  as  if  seeking  for  some  one.  Below  that, 
he  is  completely  draped  by  a  long  dark  cloak,  reaching 
nearly  to  his  feet. 

A  second  after  this,  the  master  of  ceremonies  announces 
that  Le  Prince  Dimitri  Menchikoff  will  meet  L'homme 
Masque  ! 

This  creates  no  astonishment,  as  Monsieur  Dimitri  has 
for  several  weeks  been  bragging  to  his  intimates  at  clubs 
and  cafes  of  his  intentions,  though  it  seems  to  affect  the 
mask.  He  gives  a  start,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  some- 
thing. A  moment  after,  he  turns  with  easy  grace  to  his 
opponent,  and  l}ows  to  him  as  he  comes  in — perhaps  in 
admiration  ;  for  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  half  Cossack,  half 
Tartar,  is  a  very  beautiful  specimen  of  the  physical  bull, 
as  he  strides  into  the  arena. 

His  figure  permits  no  doubt  of  his  giant  strength.  He 
weighs,  perhaps,  two  hundred  pounds  ;  his  face  has  intel- 
lect, without  balance  ;  his  weakest  point,  if  he  has  activ- 
ity, is  the  arrogant  bearing  which  he  displays,  showing 
that,  if  thwarted  long  in  any  desire  of  his  heart,  rage  will 
take  possession  of  him  ;  and  a  cool  head  to  plan,  as  well 
as  an  agile  body  to  execute;  is  necessary  for  this  greatest 
of  all  physical  contests,  when  played  by  masters  of  its 
arts  and  stratagems — Graeco-Roman  wrestling. 

All  this  is  easily  apparent,  as  he  is  in  the  costume  of 
the  arena,  and  his  great,  burly  body,  nude  from  the  waist 


162  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

up,  is  a  mass  of  huge  red  muscles,  that  have  power 
enough  to  fell  ox,  as  well  as  man,  properly  directed. 

This  immensity  of  brawn  has  its  effect  upon  the  crowd; 
and  there  is  some  admiration  in  them,  as  they  look  at  his 
points  of  wind  and  limb,  and  gaze  at  the  handsome, 
haughty,  wicked  Eastern  face  that  crowns  his  strong  and 
bullish  neck.  Besides,  they  are  delighted  at  a  new  face  ; 
the  masked  wrestler  having  downed  all  the  professional 
athletes  of  that  epoch,  like  so  many  ten-pins. 

The  judge  takes  his  position  and  gives  the  signal. 

As  he  does  so,  a  great,  prolonged,  and  mighty 
"  A — a — ah  !  "  comes  from  the  assembly  as  from  one 
throat.  It  is  a  cry  of  admiration  from  the  men,  a  gasp 
of  rapture  from  the  women.  L'homme  Masque  has,  with 
one  graceful  movement,  thrown  aside  his  cloak,  and,  in 
all  his  matchless  manly  symmetry  and  beauty,  this,  their 
god  of  the  arena,  now  stands  unveiled  before  their  long- 
ing eyes  ! 

At  the  first  glance,  the  critic  might  think  that,  in  his 
making,  power  has  been  sacrificed  to  activity  ;  at  the 
second,  he  would  know  that  it  is  only  concealed  by  it. 

The  athlete's  head  is  firmly,  yet  lightly,  placed  upon  a 
neck  so  easy  in  its  motion,  the  wondrous  strength  of  its 
firm  column  is  veiled  by  its  own  graces.  His  hands  are 
small,  but  both  fingers  and  wrists  show  marvelous 
gripping  power  ;  his  arms  are  of  unusual  reach  and  lever- 
age. His  feet,  clothed  in  rubber  sandals,  have  that  light 
yet  clinging  step  seen  only  in  animals  that  bound  upon 
their  prey.  His  legs — in  pearl-silk  tights  so  delicate  in 
texture  that  they  glow  with  the  color  of  the  gleaming 
flesh  that  strains  beneath  them — are  agile  as  those  of  an 
Olympian  runner.  Black-velvet  trunks  cover  his  hips  and 
thighs,  showing  every  grace  of  motion,  and  only  partially 
concealing  their  enormous  lifting  power.  Around  his 
loins  a  knotted  scarf  of  red  secures  these  ;  above  all  this, 
gleaming  flesh  molded  like  a  sculptor's  dream  of  per- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  163 

feet  manhood  ;  for  from  his  waist  up  he  is  nude,  and 
each  lithe  muscle  and  each  tough  sinew  of  his  magnifi- 
cent torso  can  be  seen  to  play  and  writhe  and  knot 
itself,  in  conscious  power  and  easy  motion,  beneath 
a  skin  as  soft  and  dazzling  white  as  that  of  an  infant 
before  disease  has  left  its  first  blemish  upon  the  human 
frame.  His  bust  and  chest,  magnificently  developed  and 
expanded,  show  a  capacity  for  oxygen  that  gives  him 
staying  power  in  times  when  wind  is  better  than  strength. 
This  is  how  he  looks  to  a  man  ! 

But  to  a  woman  ! — this  physical  embodiment  of  all 
collected  beauties  in  the  sex  she  loves — this  gleaming, 
glistening,  moving,  living  counterpart  of  that  power  that 
makes  her  gentler  nature  trust  and  lean  upon  and  worship 
— for  the  moment  he  looks  like  a  deity. 

And  Louise,  who  loves  strong  men,  mutters  to  herself, 
"  Divine  !  "  while  Miss  Sallie,  of  practical  mind,  murmurs, 
"  Good  Lord  !  What  a  wondrous  animal  !  " 

And  so  it  is.  Has  it  the  heart,  stamina,  and  head  to 
win  against  more  than  one  giant  in  a  night  ?  As  if  to 
test  this  question,  this  physical  phenomenon  is  now  in 
motion,  easy,  gliding,  and  powerful  as  that  of  a  tiger  that 
has  lived  his  life  untrammeled  in  the  jungles  of  the  East — 
as  he  circles  round  the  Russian  bull,  who  keeps  facing 
him,  with  his  head,  bullock  fashion,  a  little  down. 

Size  and  avoirdupois  are  all  in  favor  of  the  latter.  The 
Frenchman  lacks  nigh  thirty  pounds  of  the  Russian's 
weight,  and  two  or  three  inches  of  his  stature.  Apparently 
desirous  of  trying  his  relative  activity,  the  masked  man 
plays  around  his  antagonist,  till,  finding  he  can  avoid  him 
with  the  ease  a  greyhound  does  a  mastiff,  to  the 
astonishment  of  all  he  rather  retreats  from  Diraitri ;  and, 
seeming  to  be  wary  of  his  bullish  power,  each  time  the 
other  comes  to  grapple  with  him,  throws  his  arms  away 
and  springs  beyond  his  reach. 

"  Blowed  if  he  ain't  funking  !  "  mutters  Higgins  in  dis- 


164  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

gust ;  and,  this  idea  getting  into  the  heads  of  the  Russian 
contingent  also,  one  of  them,  a  wild-eyed  Tartar  from 
the  steppes,  cries  out :  "  Finish  him  up  !  " 

Encouraged  by  this  bad  advice,  Dimitri  takes  it,  and, 
rushing  forward,  seizes  the  right  arm  of  his  masked 
antagonist  near  the  wrist  with  both  his  brawny  hands, 
turning  quickly  to  throw  him  over  the  shoulder. 

No  Cossack  nor  Tartar,  no  matter  his  strength,  had 
ever  been  able  to  resist  his  power  so  applied  ;  and,  as  he 
feels  his  antagonist  leaving  the  ground,  triumph  comes  to 
the  Russian's  eyes.  But  just  at  this  moment  something 
very  curious  happens  to  Dimitri  :  On  his  back,  just  over 
his  kidney,  there  comes  a  short,  sharp,  terrible  jab  of  the 
masked  man's  unengaged  left  hand  ;  and  this  one  won- 
drous little  prod  suddenly  produces  in  the  giant  the 
weakness  of  a  child. 

This  is  a  new  and  astounding  experience  for  the  Rus- 
sian, who  has  not  studied  anatomy.  He  can't  under- 
stand it ;  but  can  see  the  Frenchman's  face,  below  the 
mask,  has  a  sneer  upon  it.  Enraged,  he  rushes  at  him 
once  more,  and  locks  his  mighty  arms  about  the  scoffer's 
waist ;  but,  ere  he  can  exert  his  strength,  the  masked 
man  throws  his  arms  round  his,  and  presses  them  to  his 
side  and  upward,  and  he  is  once  more  powerless.  Hold- 
ing him,  he  tosses  in  Dimitri's  face  a  mocking  laugh, 
and  throws  him  off,  and  mocks  him  as  he  stands. 

Wild  now  with  rage — for  he  hears  an  echo  of  this  laugh 
among  the  crowd — the  Russian  flies  foolishly  to  seize  him 
in  the  same  place  again.  This  time  his  rush  is  met  by 
the  mask's  right  hand,  held  edgeways  by  his  left,  to  give 
it  power,  which  meets  this  rush,  like  a  boxer's  counter, 
straight  on  the  Russian's  larynx.  Adam's  apple  is  a 
tender  spot,  even  in  the  Tartar  race.  He  staggers  with 
pain  ;  but,  while  he  does  so,  there  comes  a  gleam  of 
hope  to  Dimitri,  who  in  distracted  rage  gazes  at  this 
being  who  mocks  his  agility  and  avoids  his  strength.  The 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  165 

Frenchman  has  carelessly  turned  his  left  shoulder  toward 
him.  If  he  can  seize  him  by  the  back,  in  that  fatal 
hold  lightness  and  science  will  be  but  naught.  Fearing 
to  lose  this  tempting  chance,  Dimitri  throws  himself 
with  all  his  strength  to  grasp  it.  But  as  he  grasps, 
almost  within  his  arms,  the  Frenchman  jumps  behind  him, 
and,  as  his  rush  carries  him  beyond,  seizes  his  right  arm, 
turns  him  half  way  round,  grasps  him  from  behind,  and, 
aiding  his  own  momentum  with  a  bound  that  seems 
to  shoot  his  victim  from  him,  launches  Dimitri  upon 
mother  earth  with  a  thud  that  is  heard  even  in  the 
street !  Whether  his  own  rush  made  his  fall  the  worse, 
or  that  the  face  of  the  fair  child,  set  apart  for  sacrifice  to 
this  brutish  giant,  came  into  de  Verney's  mind,  to  make 
him  her  avenger  and  give  his  limbs  more  strength — per- 
haps the  both  combined  make  the  fall  of  Dimitri  a 
crushing  one.  He  strikes  on  his  right  shoulder,  rolls  over 
in  the  dust  of  the  arena,  and  lies  groaning  with  a  broken 
collar-bone. 

De  Verney's  movement  has  been  so  rapid  that  this  is 
all  done  in  a  flash.  And  now — the  crowd  stand  staring 
at  the  mask  and  his  victim. 

For  ten  seconds,  astounded  silence  ! 
Then  a  yell,  that  almost  raises  the  roof,  and  frightens 
even  the  cab-horses  standing  outside  !  The  next  moment 
— flowers  descending  on  the  victor,  in  bunches,  wreaths, 
bouquets,  and  single  blossoms  !  for  the  women  love  him, 
while  the  men  only  admire. 

Sophie  de  Merrincourt,  with  tears  dimming  her  beau- 
tiful blue  eyes,  and  making  them  very  tender,  mutters  : 
"  Oh  !  if  there  were  but  one  man  in  Paris  to  stand  up 
against  him  till  he  had  to  fight  !  Oh,  my  heavens  !  to 
see  his  strength  and  beauty  at  a  supreme  moment !  " 

Catching  this  impassioned  speech,  her  husband  goes 
out,  biting  his  lip.  A  few  minutes  after  he  returns,  and, 
sinking  into  a  seat  behind  his  wife, 


l66  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

believe  you'll  have  your  wish.  I  have  just  seen  a  swarthy- 
looking  chap  who  is  to  have  a  try  with  your  divinity,  and 
I  think  will  give  him  all  he  wishes  to  attend  to  ;  and  if 
he  breaks  that  masked  creature's  neck,  I  and  half  the 
men  of  Paris  '11  be  very  glad  of  it !  " 

"  Glad  of  it  ?  Why  ?  "  and  Sophie  questions  with  both 
tongue  and  eyes. 

"  Because,  if  this  wrestling  mania  keeps  up,  I  and  half 
the  husbands  of  Paris  '11  have  to  go  into  the  arena  to 
keep  the  affections  of  our  wives." 

The  lady  gazes  at  her  lord  for  a  moment ;  then  an 
amused  look  comes  into  her  eyes,  and  she  lisps  :  "  Do 
you  think  you'd  be  very  fascinating  like  that,  my  Henri  ?  '* 
pointing  with  her  fan  to  the  masked  wrestler. 

At  this  Parthian  arrow,  de  Merrincourt  mutters  a  sup- 
pressed curse — for  he  is  undersized  and  very  slightly 
built — then  goes  savagely  out  to  the  Cafe  le  Peletier, 
and  tries  to  drown  his  rage  in  absinthe. 

As  for  Louise,  the  terrible  fall  this  masked  man  has 
given  his  adversary  has  filled  her  with  a  fearful  terror. 
When  the  Russian  is  carried  out,  she  leaves  her  seat,  and, 
careless  of  remark,  forces  her  way  through  the  throng  at 
the  main  entrance;  then  runs  round  by  the  streets  to  the 
smaller  one  used  by  contestants  in  the  games.  Opposite 
this  door,  in  the  street  outside,  is  a  carriage  and  pair, 
evidently  waiting  for  the  masked  man — the  one  from 
which  he  always  stepped  ready  for  the  arena.  A  few 
men,  apparently  employees,  are  standing  about  this 
entrance  to  Les  Arenes;  among  them  one,  his  face  covered 
with  sticking-plaster,  who  gives  a  start ;  for,  did  she  but 
recognize  him,  he  is  the  Microbe  who  she  imagines  is 
enjoying  his  first  day  of  prison  fare  inside  the  walls  of 
the  Mazas.  Carelessly  brushing  past  him  and  Marcillac, 
Jolly  and  Regnier,  who  are  all  with  him,  Louise,  intent 
on  but  one  thing,  gets  to  the  door  and  demands  to  see 
Lieber.  He  is  just  coming  out  from  a  dressing-room, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  167 

ready  for  the  fray^  and,  hearing  her  voice,  calls  out  for  the 
door-keeper  to  let  her  in.  This  being  done,  he  says, 
"  Well,  little  woman,  why  have  you  left  your  place  ?  " 

Then  she  whispers  in  reply  something  that  Microbe, 
who  has  come  after  her,  cannot  hear. 

To  this,  Auguste  cries  :  "  Pish  !  Do  you  want  to  frighten 
me  ?  I'm  no  cursed  amateur,  like  that  Cossack  !  " 

And  she  whispers  again  :    "  I  pray  ;  I  beg  it  of  you  !  " 

Microbe  can  hear  this  ;  she  is  excited. 

Then  Lieber  mutters  at  her  :  "  Don't  talk  nonsense  ! 
It  is  safer  with  me  than  with  you  in  this  crowd.  Besides, 
do  you  want  me  to  undress  myself  again,  and  keep  this 
popinjay,  this  aristocrat,  waiting  for  his  rolling-over?" 

Then  she  entreats  again,  and  would  reason  and  plead 
with  him,  and  keep  him  from  the  ring  ;  but  he  stops  her 
with  "  Hold  your  tongue  !  Haven't  you  got  the  letters  ? 
Do  you  want  all  our  eggs  in  one  basket  ?  Get  back  to 
your  place  !  Don't  try  to  make  me  a  woman  like  your- 
self !  "  Then  breaks  from  her,  and  bids  the  attendant 
announce  him. 

At  this  the  girl  gives  a  long  sigh,  goes  round  to  the 
main  entrance  again,  and,  with  a  very  pale  and  anxious 
face,  resumes  her  seat. 

During  the  wait  between  contests,  the  masked  wrestler 
has  resumed  his  cloak  ;  and,  muffled  in  its  folds,  has 
seated  himself  nearly  opposite  the  entrance  by  which  his 
adversary  will  come  to  him.  His  anxiety  to  see  who  it 
will  be  seems  greater  than  that  of  the  spectators  ;  for  he 
keeps  his  eye  in  one  continuous,  almost  longing,  look 
upon  the  place. 

The  master  of  ceremonies  announces  "  Auguste  Lieber, 
of  Strasbourg,  the  man  with  the  iron  legs  !  " 

This  peculiar  appellation  is  greeted  by  the  spectators 
with  a  roar  of  laughter  ;  and  in  it  very  few  note  the  impa- 
tient joy  with  which  the  mask  throws  off  his  cloak  and 
rises,  as  if  the  moment  had  come  for  which  he  was  eager. 


l68  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

The  laughter  suddenly  changes  to  a  murmur  of 
admiration  ;  for  the  giant  coming  in  gives  them  all  a 
thrill. 

His  burly  legs,  cased  in  black  tights,  well  merit  their 
appellation.  Above  his  belt  there  is  nothing  to  hide  the 
view  of  his  stout,  grandly  muscled  body  and  sinewy  arms, 
save  the  long,  black  hair  with  which  they  are  covered, 
making  him  more  bear  than  man,  and  giving  to  the 
contest  about  to  begin  a  curious  and  weird  intensity  ; 
for  it  is  like  the  combat  of  some  fair  youth  against  an 
ogre  or  a  monster — some  Theseus  contending  with  a 
Periphetes. 

The  Alsacian  holds  out  his  hand,  after  the  manner  of 
professional  wrestlers,  to  give  his  opponent  greeting.  The 
masked  man  clasps  it ;  and  then  the  two,  with  wary  eyes, 
move  around  each  oilier,  seeking  for  a  hold. 

Impatiently  Lieber  tries  the  neck;  and  though  the  white 
flesh  reddens  under  his  sounding  pats,  as  he  grasps  the 
lithe  column,  it  always  wriggles  from  him;  butde  Verney, 
curiously  enough,  always  seeks  to  grasp  his  adversary's 
waist,  and  over  and  round  this  his  hands  linger,  as  if 
searching  for  some  hidden  thing. 

Doing  so,  he  takes  some  awful  chances  ;  and  once,  the 
quick,  strong  animal  he  is  pawing  over  slips  behind  and 
seizes  him  with  a  hold  that  would  be  fatal,  did  not  Maurice 
give  him  no  time  to  tighten  his  muscles  ;  but,  seizing  like 
lightning  his  encircling  arms,  pushes  them  down,  so  that 
Lieber  has  no  power  with  which  to  lift  and  throw  him. 
Thus,  struggling  and  writhing  together,  they  fall  to  the 
ground,  Auguste  above. 

With  triumph  in  his  eye,  he  seizes  the  Frenchman's 
neck,  to  wring  it  or  to  turn  him  over,  so  that  both  shoul- 
ders and  a  hip  may  rest  upon  the  earth,  and  he  may  win  ; 
but  at  this  moment,  as  he  straddles  him  to  roll  him  on 
his  back,  there  comes  one  wild,  exultant  shriek  from  the 
crowd  ! 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  169 

For  de  Verney,  noting  the  proper  instant,  has  risen  upon 
his  knees,  and,  with  the  mighty  power  of  his  wondrous 
hips  and  loins,  thrown  the  Alsacian  clean  over  his 
head! 

Quick  as  a  flash  Maurice  is  on  him  ;  but  quicker  yet, 
the  trained  wrestler  of  many  bouts  forms,  even  while  in 
the  air,  a  bridge  ;  and,  setting  the  great  muscles  of  his 
neck,  keeps  his  shoulders  off  the  ground.  So  round  the 
waist  de  Verney  with  his  hands  searches,  pretending  to 
struggle,  but  each  time  examining  for  that  hidden  paper. 
And  in  one  of  these  panting  pauses,  as  Lieber  dis- 
covers that  inexorable  hand  stealing  about  him,  investi- 
gating for  something — not  trying  for  a  fall — but  making 
a  search,  the  Alsacian  guesses.  And  with  that  guess  a 
shiver  runs  through  his  frame,  and  for  a  moment  de 
Verney  could  make  a  victory.  But  now  he  knows  he 
cannot  find  and  steal  this  paper  during  the  struggle  itself  ; 
and  that,  to  win  what  he  desires,  he  must  not  only  throw 
his  man,  but  throw  him  INSENSIBLE  ! 

As  this  comes  to  him,  he  gives  Lieber  a  chance  to 
escape.  In  a  moment  the  Alsacian  springs  from  under 
him  ;  and  the  two,  glaring  at  each  other  again,  stand  up. 
But  at  this  moment  Maurice  makes  an  experiment.  Fie 
suddenly  reaches  down,  as  if  to  grasp  his  opponent's  feet. 
At  this  motion  Auguste  gives  a  little  gasp,  that  tells  de 
Verney  that  under  Lieber's  foot  the  paper  upon  v/hich 
their  fates  depend  is  hid. 

Knowing  the  fearful  nature  of  the  stake,  Lieber  might 
now  wish  to  avoid  the  struggle  ;  but  curiously  enough 
he  only  fights  more  fiercely  ;  for  like  a  wild  flash  has  gone 
through  the  Alsatian's  brain  :  *'  This  masked  man  guesses 
our  secret !  /  must  disable  him  to-night,  that  to-morrow's 
work  may  be  done  in  safety  !  " 

Thus  struggling,  panting,  their  eyes  half  standing  from 
their  heads,  their  bodies  covered  with  dust  and  sweat, 
their  breaths  coming  in  the  short  gasps  of  intense  exer- 


170  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

tion,  these  men  writhe,  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  about 
the  arena  ;  sometimes  the  lightning  activity  of  one, 
sometimes  the  mighty  muscle  of  the  other,  giving  him 
the  vantage. 

Till  for  very  want  of  breath  they  break  away,  and  stand 
eying  each  other  like  wild  beasts.  But  in  this  pause  de 
Verney  has  time  to  reason.  Apparently  he  makes  a  single 
careless  motion,  and  Lieber,  seeing  a  sudden  chance  such 
as  wrestlers  love,  like  lightning  springs;  but  when  Maurice 
tries  to  step  behind  him,  as  he  jumps  to  catch  him  round 
the  waist,  this  veteran  of  the  arena  is  too  wary,  and  seizes 
the  right  arm  of  the  mask  in 'his  two  brawny  hands  ;  then 
turning,  would  throw  him  over  his  head  ;  but  Maurice,  as 
he  goes,  catches  him  by  the  neck  with  his  left  hand,  and 
side  by  side  they  topple  into  the  dust  of  the  arena.  Then 
comes  a  struggle  such  as  the  Arenes  never  saw  before  ; 
for  these  men,  unknown  to  all  that  wondering  crowd,  are 
battling  like  tigers — not  for  glory,  but  for  the  fate  of  a 
conspiracy  ! 

By  a  quick  movement  de  Verney  gets  on  top.  Then, 
in  spite  of  him,  Lieber  fights  his  way  to  his  hands  and 
knees  ;  and  so  they  lie,  panting,  one  upon  the  other.  A 
moment  thus,  until  they  struggle  into  the  position  that 
favors  Maurice's  movement.  The  instant  comes,  and 
like  a  flash  de  Verney  turns  his  face  to  Auguste's  feet ; 
and,  catching  him  round  the  waist,  staggers  up,  holding 
his  burly  body  in  his  arms,  and  evading  one  last  desper- 
ate clutch  that  would  be  foul — for  Lieber  cares  now  only 
for  personal  safety — like  lightning  gets  into  a  pose  that 
makes  him  a  human  catapult ;  then,  bending  his  superb 
muscles  like  a  bow,  he  dashes  from  him  head  downward, 
half  against  the  arena,  half  against  its  railing,  the  big 
Alsacian,  who,  as  he  strikes  the  timbers,  utters  one  cry 
of  horror,  and  is  senseless  as  the  ground  on  which  he 
lies! 

While  over  this  comes  up  from  men  and  women — who 


THAT  FRENCHMAN!  171 

have  been  struggling,  fighting,  gasping,  panting,  like  the 
combatants  themselves — a  yell  such  as  was  heard  in 
ancient  Rome  when  gladiator's  sword  drank  gladiator's 
life-blood,  and  vestals  and  senators  and  Imperator  himself 
cried  "  Habet !  HABET  !" 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE    BASE-BALL    FINGER. 

AFTER  this  scream  of  the  victors  comes  one  wild  cry 
of  the  vanquished.  It  is  from  Louise,  who,  as  the 
Alsacian  giant  lies  insensible  in  the  arena,  wrings  her 
hands  and  struggles  with  the  crowd  already  going  out,  to 
make  her  way  to  the  main  entrance  of  the  building,  that 
she  may  get  round  through  the  streets  to  the  exit  for  the 
combatants,  and  so  arrive  at  Lieber's  side. 

But  this  is  for  the  present  impossible.  Not  even  the 
masked  man  himself  could  force  a  path  through  the 
human  mass  wedged  into  that  passage-way,  and  now 
slowly  pouring  from  Les  Arenes.  Panting,  struggling, 
sighing  with  impatience,  the  girl  is  compelled  to  wait, 
and  hear  the  remarks  of  those  near  her. 

"  Ah  !  "  cries  Madame  de  Merrincourt,  who  is  straining 
her  eyes  to  catch  the  last  glimpse  of  her  hero,  "  The 
masked  god  is  assisting  to  carry  the  poor,  insensible 
Lieber  out.  He  made  a  gallant  struggle  !  " 

These  words  make  Louise  doubly  anxious.  She  again 
attempts  to  gain  the  entrance,  but  in  vain. 

As  she  does  so,  the  American  party  come  out  of  their 
box  ;  Miss  Sallie  and  Mr.  Higgins  are  squeezed  against 
her,  and  she  catches  a  little  of  their  conversation. 

Miss  Sallie,  like  most  American  girls  in  Paris,  insists 
on  speaking  French.  She  whispers  excitedly  to  her 
escort :  "  Freddy,  I'm  going  to  know  that  masked  man, 
sure  !  " 

"  How  will  you  discover  him,  Miss  Smartie  ? "  lisps 
Higgins. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  173 

"  My  opera-glass  is  a  small  telescope.  With  it  I  dropped 
onto  something." 

"  Take  me  into  partnership,"  whispers  Freddy,  very 
anxiously. 

"You'll  promise  to  tell  me,  if  you  find  him  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  look  about  your  clubs  and  cafes  for  an  athlete 
who  has  a  base-ball  finger,  and  you'll  have  the  man  we're 
after  !  " 

"  You  are  sure  ?  "  asks  Higgins. 

"  Certain  !  Lhomme  Masque"  has  a  regular  base-ball 
digit,  like  the  catcher  of  the  Red  Stockings.  The  little 
finger  of  the  right  hand  !  " 

Here  the  crowd  brushes  them  away  from  her  ;  but 
Louise,  struggling  still  with  all  her  might  to  force  her 
way  out,  can't  help  remembering  the  remarks  of  the 
Yankee  girl  with  the  big  opera-glass,  and  wonders  what  a 
base-ball  finger  really  is. 

A  few  minutes  after  this,  she  is  in  the  street ;  and, 
dodging  the  carriages  coming  up  for  their  loads,  runs 
wildly  round  to  the  entrance  for  contestants.  She  comes 
breathlessly  in,  and  goes  straight  to  the  dressing-room, 
from  which  she  saw  Lieber  issue  some  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  before. 

Seeing  a  man  in  front  of  it,  she  says  hurriedly  :  "  I  am 
the  ward  of  Monsieur  Lieber,  who  was  injured  in  the 
arena  to-night.  How  is  he  ? " 

"  Still  insensible,"  remarks  the  man  addressed,  who  is 
an  old  employee  of  the  establishment. 

"  My  Heaven  !  " 

"  But  mademoiselle  need  not  be  alarmed.  There  hap- 
pened to  be  a  surgeon  outside  ;  he  examined  him,  and 
said  he  was  not  seriously  injured." 

"Thank  God  !  "  exclaims  Louise.  A  moment  after,  she 
says  more  calmly  :  "  Call  a  carnage  ;  he  must  be  removed 
at  once  ! " 


174  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  That  has  been  already  done." 

"  Ah  !  They  know  where  he  lives.  The  Rue  des 
Vignes  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  Monsieur  Lieber  was  taken  there,"  says 
the  man. 

"  Then — where  to  !  "  asks  Louise,  suddenly. 

"To  the  hospital." 

"  Which  hospital  ?  Quick  !  My  Heaven  !  Why  don't 
you  answer?"  The  girl  beats  her  hands  together  in 
anxiety,  and  her  lips  grow  pale  with  some  sudden  fear ;  an 
awful  thought  having  flashed  through  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  frightened  about  him  !  L  homme 
Masque  was  very  considerate.  He  had  him  assisted 
into  his  own  carriage  ;  helped  carry  him  there  himself. 
And  he  generally  jumps  in  at  once  and  drives  away  like 
mad,  to  avoid  the  curious.  But,  then,  he  never  hurt  any 
one  before  ;  and  to-night  he  broke  the  Russian's  collar- 
bone, and  smashed  Lieber  all  up.  I  wonder  what  can 
have  made  him  so  savage — he  is  usually  very  gentle," 
gabbles  the  old  man. 

Here  the  girl  interrupts  him  suddenly  :  "  Who  is  this 
L" homme  Masque  ?  " 

The  man  hesitates. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  francs  if  you'll  tell  me  !  " 
mutters  Louise,  trying  to  get  out  her  pocket-book. 

"  Ah  !  If  I  knew  that/'  says  the  old  employee,  with  a 
grin,  "  I  could  make  ten  thousand  !  There  are  other 

ladies "  Then  he  chuckles  to  himself,  "Another 

woman  mad  after  this  unknown  charmer  !  " 

Hardly  noticing  this  last,  the  girl  repeats,  "  What  hos- 
pital was  Lieber  taken  to  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know — I  will  try  and  find  out,"  says  the  man  ; 
and  in  half  a  minute  returns  with  the  news  that  he  thinks 
it  is  Lariboisiere — that's  about  the  nearest. 

He  says  no  more  ;  for  Louise  has  run  hurriedly  into  the 
street,  called  the  first  cab  she  could  find,  and  is  now 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  175 

driving  off  to  the  hospital  Lariboisiere  as  fast  as  a  bribe 
can  make  a  night-hackman  make  a  night-horse  move. 

In  ten  minutes,  she  is  whirled  to  this  great  monument 
of  a  woman's  humanity  to  mankind,  and,  by  the  doctor  in 
charge,  is  courteously  informed  that  no  such  case  has 
been  brought  into  the  hospital  this  night. 

She  breathlessly  tells  him  briefly  where  the  injury 
occurred,  and  asks  him  if  he  can  suggest  what  would  be 
the  most  likely  place  to  which  they  would  take  Lieber, 
under  the  circumstances. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  hospitals  in  Paris,  and  you 
ask  me  rather  a  difficult  question,"  says  the  doctor  ;  "but 
here  is  a  list  of  them,  and  their  locations."  He  writes 
hurriedly  a  few  moments,  and  hands  her  the  paper. 

"  Are  these  all  ?  "  she  asks. 

"  No  ;  but  they  are  the  most  important." 

Coming  out  with  this  list  in  her  hand,  it  occurs  to  her 
to  ask  the  hack-driver  a  question.  She  says  :  "  You  were 
standing  near  the  entrance  of  Les  Arenes  when  they 
brought  the  wounded  wrestler  out?" 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle  !  " 

"Which  way  did  they  drive  with  him  ?" 

"  Down  the  Rue  Laffitte,  to  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens." 

She  looks  over  her  list.  This  would  seem  to  indicate 
that  Lieber  had  most  likely  been  driven  by  the  Pont  du 
Carrousel  or  Pont  des  Arts  to  the  hospital  de  la  Charite, 
across  the  river. 

She  directs  the  driver  to  hurry  there.  Here,  disap- 
pointment again  meets  her.  No  such  case  has  been 
received  this  night. 

Her  anxiety  becomes  such  that  even  the  night-hack- 
man, accustomed  to  the  miseries  and  horrors  of  the 
streets  of  a  metropolis  after  dark,  looks  with  pity  upon 
her,  and  says  :  "  Mademoiselle  !  Why  not  try  the  Val  de 
Grace  ? " 

"  Pshaw,  that's  a  military  hospital — used  only  by  sol- 


176  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

diers  !  "  Louise  mutters,  consulting  the  list  given  her  by 
the  physician. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle  ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  sur- 
geon who  attended  the  wounded  man  was  in  uniform. 
Besides,  the  Val  de  Grace  is  on  this  side  of  the  river,  and 
not  a  great  distance  from  here." 

"  Very  well  !  "  replies  the  girl,  almost  despairingly  ; 
"  drive  to  the  Val  de  Grace." 

So  it  comes  to  pass,  after  going  through  the  usual  pre- 
liminaries of  a  military  hospital,  that  here  she  finds  Lieber. 

She  has  made  her  search  so  rapidly  that  she  is  only 
half  an  hour  behind  him  in  time  of  arrival. 

He  is  in  a  little,  dimly-lighted  room,  with  but  a  single 
bed  in  it,  a  thing  unusual  in  military  hospitals.  A  young 
surgeon  in  uniform  rises  from  beside  the  Alsacian's  cot, 
as  she  comes  in.  "  I  was  expecting  you,  miss,"  he  politely 
remarks,  giving  her  a  chair  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  that 
she  contrives  to  take  quite  calmly.  "  The  sick  man 
spoke  of  you." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Very  little  ;  only  that  you  were  his  ward,  Louise 
Tourney,  and  would  be  sure  to  find  him,"  mutters  the 
surgeon,  looking  down  in  rather  a  shamefaced  way. 

Then  the  girl  suddenly  asks,  "  Was  he  delirious  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least  !  " 

"  A — a — ah  !  "  this  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  But  in 
this  sigh  she  pauses  and  trembles  ;  Lieber's  eyes  have 
opened  and  looked  at  her  — in  a  horrible,  despairing  sort 
of  way.  His  jaws  and  tongue  have  made  a  desperate 
effort  to  say  something,  but  only  produce  a  groan. 

The  young  surgeon  hastily  bares  the  athlete's  arm  and 
gives  him  a  hypodermic  injection  ;  then  mutters  :  "  He 
has  a  very  powerful  organization;  I've  already  given  him 
the  dose  for  two  men,  and  it's  not  enough." 

Louise  looks  on  with  trembling  lips.  A  moment  after 
she  repeats  :  "  He  was  not  delirious  ? " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  177 

"  Certainly  not,"  replies  the  doctor.  "  There  is  no 
laceration  of  the  brain." 

"  Will  he  be  well  to-morrow  ? "  This  is  asked  very 
anxiously. 

"  No  ;  he  must  not  be  moved  for  several  days." 

"  My  God  !  " 

*'  Oh,  don't  be  alarmed  !  "  mutters  the  young  physi- 
cian. "  There  are  no  bones  broken  ;  only  a  general 
shaking  up.  I  happened  to  be  passing  Les  Arenes,  and 
they  told  me  there  had  been  an  accident ;  so  I  had  him 
brought  to  my  ward." 

Here  the  blood-shot  eyes  of  the  Alsacian  again  open 
and  give  Louise  one  awful,  despairing  glance.  Lieber 
makes  a  fearful  effort  to  say  something ;  but  the  drug 
overcomes  him,  and  what  might  have  been  a  cry  becomes 
a  snore. 

These  symptoms  of  the  Alsacian  seem  to  make  the 
girl  very  anxious.  Ever  since  she  has  been  in  the  room, 
her  restless,  fevered  eyes  have  wandered  about,  noting 
every  detail. 

The  athlete  has  been  undressed.  The  overcoat  he 
has  been  wrapped  in  and  his  wrestling  costume  have 
been  tossed  about,  as  if  he  had  been  put  to  bed  in  a 
hurry,  and  they  were  a  secondary  consideration.  Belt, 
sandals,  and  tights  lie  on  the  floor.  As  Louise  sees  these 
last,  she  gives  a  quick  gasp  of  anxiety. 

A  moment  after,  the  surgeon  rises  and  remarks  :  "  I 
have  other  patients,  but  will  return  in  a  few  minutes. 
You  will  not  mind  watching  over  Monsieur  Lieber  while 
I  am  gone  ?  " 

The  girl  gives  him  one  joyous,  thankful,  almost  happy 
look — the  first  one  that  has  hope  in  it  since  she  entered. 
He  bows  to  her  respectfully  and  leaves  the  room. 

The  instant  his  back  is  turned,  Louise  flies  at  the  tights, 
and  inserts  her  hand  into  their  right  foot.  For  a  moment 
her  face  has  an  awful,  panic-stricken  look.  She  utters 


1 78  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

a  little  gasp  of  despair — her  hand  trembles  so,  she  has 
missed  it — the  next  moment,  this  becomes  an  almost 
inarticulate  cry  of  triumph.  Her  eyes  become  radiant — 
she  has  found  a  little  ball  of  cigarette-paper.  This  she 
examines  carefully  in  the  dim  light  of  this  sick-room, 
utters  a  short  sob  of  relief  that  sounds  like  "  Safe  !  " 
and  then  almost  faints  away. 

A  few  moments  after  this  she  staggers  up  from  the 
floor,  upon  which  she  has  been  sitting,  and  getting  to 
the  brawny  invalid,  who  now  is  sleeping  too  strongly 
to  be  awakened,  encircles  him  with  her  arms  ;  and,  with 
kisses,  caresses,  and  burning  words  of  love,  strives  to 
bring  sense  to  him,  that  he  may  hear  her.  Finally, 
despairing  of  this,  she  whispers  in  his  ear  :  "  To-morrow 
you  cannot  do  it ;  but,  Auguste,  I  will  take  your  place  ! " 
then  gives  the  great,  dark,  senseless  giant,  whose  limbs 
are  robbed  by  sleep  of  power  and  strength,  more  tender 
kisses  and  more  burning  words. 

And  so  doing,  the  surgeon  comes  in  upon  her.  She 
hurriedly  turns  to  him,  and  asks,  tremblingly:  "Why 
does  my — my  guardian  snore  so  ? " 

"  That  is  the  effect  of  the  morphine  I  have  given  him," 
mutters  the  young  physician,  gazing  at  the  floor.  All 
through  this  interview,  his  eyes  seldom  look  straight  into 
the  girl's,  but  droop  as  if  he  were  ashamed  of  something. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  sure  that  is  the  proper  treatment  ?  " 

He  does  not  answer  this  directly,  but  replies  :  "  Ma- 
demoiselle, I  am  a  military  surgeon  ;  I  know  my  profes- 
sion." 

"  Of  course  ! "  returns  the  girl  almost  dreamily,  rising 
and  arranging  her  wraps  to  face  the  night  air  once  more. 
"  I  can  see  him  to-morrow?" 

"  Whenever  you  wish  ;  but  you  had  better  come  late 
in  the  afternoon.  He'll  hardly  be  awake  before  then." 

"  Not  before  late  in  the  afternoon  ?  He  won't  be  able 
to  speak  to  me — before  THEN  ? " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  179 

"  NO  !  " 

The  girl,  who  has  got  almost  to  the  door,  looks  help- 
lessly at  the  surgeon,  and  staggers,  as  if  she  would  fall. 

He  runs  to  her,  and  supports  her  to  a  chair  ;  then 
orders  some  brandy  ;  and,  this  being  brought  to  him, 
forces  it  down  her  throat,  saying  :  "  You'll  be  sick  your- 
self, mademoiselle.  Your  face  is  pale  with  anxiety ; 
your  eyes  burning — feverish  !  " 

"  I  shall  do  very  well  to-morrow ! "  mutters  the  girl, 
with  a  significance  that  he  does  not  notice.  As  she 
goes  out,  he  escorts  her  to  the  gates  of  the  hospital,  and 
politely  assists  her  into  her  cab,  telling  the  driver  to  take 
her  home  to  the  Rue  des  Vignes,  the  address  Louise 
mentions  ;  and  remarking  to  her,  almost  apologetically, 
as  she  is  about  to  drive  off :  "A  few  years  ago,  made- 
moiselle, we  would  have  bled  your  guardian,  and  he'd 
have  been  weak  as  a  kitten  for  a  month  ;  now,  a  few 
days,  and  he's  strong  as  a  Hercules.  What  a  magnificent 
physical  development  Monsieur  Lieber  has  !  But  that 
masked  man  seems  to  be  too  much  for  anything  on  earth." 

Here  Louise  astonishes  the  young  doctor.  She  leans 
out  of  her  carriage,  and  suddenly  says  :  "  You  are  a  sur- 
geon, and,  of  course,  understand  anatomy  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  " 

"  Then,  can  you  tell  me  what  a  '  base-ball'  finger  is  ? " 

"  A  WHAT  ?" 

"  A  base-ball  finger  !  I  heard  an  American  lady  use 
that  term." 

"  Mademoiselle,  that  is  no  anatomical  expression," 
mutters  the  doctor.  "  But  we  frequently  have  American 
medical  students  visit  this  hospital.  I'll  ask  the  next 
one  I  meet.  When  you  come  to-morrow,  perhaps  I'll 
be  able  to  answer." 

"  Thank  you!  "  remarks  Louise  ;  and  she  drives  away, 
with  a  grateful  glance  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  that  flash 
out,  even  in  the  light  of  the  burning  gas-lamps  of  the 


l8o  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

entrance  of  the  Val  de  Grace,  into  the  young  surgeon's 
face,  and  make  him  ashamed  of  his  night's  work. 

Filled  with  this  idea — angry  at  himself — he  hurries 
back  to  the  room  of  the  sleeping  Lieber,  and  there  finds 
de  Verney  and  young  Microbe,  who  have  just  made  an 
examination  that  pleases  them. 

There  is  a  smile  of  triumph  on  Maurice's  brow.  He  is 
laughing  quietly.  The  relief  from  the  tension  on  his  mind, 
for  the  last  two  days,  can  be  seen  in  his  countenance. 

Monsieur  Microbe,  in  a  state  of  wonderful  exhilara- 
tion, is  just  saying:  "We've  got  the  one  on  the  bed," 
pointing  to  Lieber,  who  is  still  snoring,  "  and  we'll  bag 
the  girl  to-morrow,  sure  !  " 

The  surgeon,  coming  in,  catches  the  latter  part  of  this 
remark.  He  looks  sternly  a  moment  at  de  Verney,  and 
says  :  "  A  word  with  you,  sir." 

"  With  pleasure  !  "  remarks  Maurice.  Then  he  laughs  a 
little,  and  continues  :  "  Ferron,  my  boy,  you  did  the  trick 
very  neatly  !  " 

"  Yes  !  "  mutters  the  latter.  "  But  if  that  girl  had 
arrived  here  one  minute  earlier,  the  patient  would  have 
been  able  to  speak.  As  it  was " 

"  Lieber  did  not  say  anything  to  Louise  ?  "  cries  Mau- 
rice, with  a  start. 

"  No  !  but  he  came  very  close  to  it.  His  will  made  a 
fearful  struggle,  but  the  drug  won." 

"  All  right  !  "  returns  de  Verney.  "  Keep  him  under 
its  influence  until  I  come  again  !  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  says  the  surgeon  shortly. 
"  No  more  morphine  !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  remarks  Maurice,  in  too  good  a  temper 
to  quarrel  with  any  one  at  this  moment.  "  There's  no 
danger  of  its  hurting  him  ?  " 

"  No  !  but  morphine  is  not  the  proper  treatment  in 
such  a  case  !  "  returns  Ferron  hotly  ;  "  and  now,  a  word 
with  you,  monsieur.  So  far,  I've  done  your  bidding  in 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  l8l 

this  matter,  Maurice  de  Verney,  because  we  were  friends 
at  school,  and  you,  as  aid-de-camp  of  the  general  command- 
ing Paris,  instructed  me.  I've  taken  the  senses  away  from 
this  man,  so  he  cannot  protect  his  beautiful  ward.  In  that 
I've  violated  my  sacred  duty  as  a  physician.  I'll  take 
away  his  senses  no  more  !  " 

"  He  must  be  kept  insensible  till  to-morrow  night !  " 

"  Not  till  you  swear  to  me,  as  there's  a  God  above  you, 
you  mean  no  harm  to  that  unprotected  girl  !  " 

"  Not  in  the  way  you  imagine,  Ferron,"  returns  Mau- 
rice; "though  I  think  no  less  of  you  for  wishing  to  guard 
her.  You  have  only  done  your  duty  to-night  to  your  Em- 
peror and  your  country.  That  man  " — here  he  points  to 
Lieber — "  is  a  prisoner  now.  Monsieur  Microbe  has  four 
officers  outside,  who'll  look  after  him.  I  do  not  wish 
to  remove  him  yet ;  but  he  must  communicate  with  no  one. 
Therefore,  you  must  keep  him  insensible.  On  my  word, 
I  cannot — I  dare  not — give  my  reasons  to  you  to-night, 
though  I  promise  you  to  explain  the  whole  affair  in  a 
few  days.  Will  you  do  as  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Y-e-s  !  "  mutters  the  young  surgeon,  after  a  little  con- 
sideration ;  but  a  moment  after  cries  hotly  :  "  If  you  have 
made  me  do  anything,  Monsieur  de  Verney,  that  violates 
the  oath  of  my  profession,  I  shall  show  you  something  you 
sabreurs  sometimes  forget :  and  that  is — we  doctors  can 
use  the  sword,  as  well  as  the  lancet !  " 

"  I've  no  doubt  you're  equally  fatal  with  both  !  "  says 
Maurice  with  a  grin  ;  but  here  he  places  his  arm  in  a 
kindly  manner  over  the  young  physician's  shoulder,  and 
continues  :  "  You've  done  me  a  great  favor  to-night.  My 
explanation  shall  satisfy  even  your  conscience,  I  pledge 
you  my  honor  !  And  1  think  all  the  more  of  you  for  being 
jealous  of  your  own,  and  your  noble  calling." 

Next  he  turns  and  looks  at  the  sleeping  Lieber  ;  and 
his  face  grows  sad  as  he  thinks  that  Cayenne  or  the 
guillotine  must  be  this  poor,  brawny  giant's  fate. 


182  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

A  few  moments  after,  Maurice  passes  out  of  the 
Val  de  Grace,  young  Microbe  coming  down  the  stairs 
by  his  side,  and  remarking  :  "  By  Jove  !  Louise's  beauty 
must  have  caught  that  saw-bones  strong.  He  became  so 
fiery,  I  thought  of  prescribing  some  of  his  own  morphine 
for  him  !  " 

De  Verney  does  not  answer  this.  He  is  looking  ear- 
nestly, but  happily,  at  a  piece  of  paper  he  has  in  his  hand, 
which  is  a  fac-simile  of  the  cigarette  paper  Louise  the 
flower-girl  had  carried  away,  in  triumph,  from  this  same 
hospital. 

After  giving  the  officers  on  guard  over  Lieber  some 
instructions,  he  tells  Microbe  to  get  into  the  cab  with 
him  ;  and  the  two  ride  toward  his  home,  in  the  Rue 
d'Hautville. 

Crossing  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  they  are  blocked 
for  a  moment,  the  street  being  full  of  carriages  ;  and  two 
young  men  from  the  sidewalk  hail  him. 

"  By  George,  de  Verney  !  you  always  miss  it.  You 
should  have  been  at  Les  Arenes  to-night,  and  seen  the 
ferocious  struggle  between  the  German  giant  and  the 
masked  wrestler  !  "  cries  de  Frontenac  to  him. 

"  Indeed  !  Who  won  ?  "  asks  Maurice,  between  the 
puffs  of  his  cigar,  with  rather  ostentatious  eagerness. 

"  Oh  !  L'homme  Masque,  of  course  !  "  yells  out  young 
Higgins,  who  is  now  as  happy  as  champagne  and 
absinthe  can  make  him.  "I've  got  the  drop  on  that 
enigma,  too.  I  can  recognize  him  now.  He  had  a  base- 
ball finger  put  on  him  to-night  !  " 

As  the  cab  drives  away,  de  Verney  mutters,  with  a 
start  :  "  By  Jove  !  I  broke  my  little  finger  this  evening 
over  the  Russian,  and  forgot  all  about  it — till  now  !  " 

Arriving  at  his  rooms,  he  again  forgets  his  hurt ;  for  he 
hastily  goes  into  his  chamber  and  produces  his  copy  of 
the  three  letters  of  the  chemist  Hermann.  Then,  with 
hands  trembling  from  excited  eagerness,  he  arranges  the 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  183 

cipher  words  in  them,  inserting  in  their  proper  order 
those  copied  from  the  cigarette  paper,  for  which  this 
night  he  has  struggled  with  the  Alsacian  giant  in  the 
salle  Les  Arenes. 

After  looking  at  this  carefully  for  a  few  moments,  and 
trying  the  effect  of  different  punctuations  on  it,  he  gives 
a  cry  of  triumph  ;  for  this  is  what  he  sees  before  him  : 

"  MONDAYS,  WEDNESDAYS,  AND  SATURDAYS,  IN  FINE 
WEATHER,  OUR  OBJECT  PLAYS  BETWEEN  TWO  AND  FOUR 
IN  THE  AFTERNOON  AT  THE  JARDIN  D'ACCLIMATATION, 
AT  HIDE  AND  SEEK. 

"  OUR  OBJECT  HIDES  IN  A  HOLE  USED  BY  THE  PARK 
GARDENERS  FOR  A  TOOL  RECEPTACLE.  KNOW  PLACE  BY 
THREE  RED  ROSES.  WEAR  ONE  FOR  ANSWER. 

"  ON  RECEIPT  OF  THIS,  WORK  GAS-PLAN  YOU  HAVE 
PROPOSED.  IT  IS  SAFEST  FOR  ALL.  THE  REST  IS  MINE. 
I  SHALL  NOT  FAIL. 

"ADDITIONAL  TO  FOLLOW  EACH  RED  ROSE-BUD.  COME 
IMMEDIATELY  !  " 

Stepping  into  the  parlor,  where  young  Microbe  impa- 
tiently awaits  him,  Maurice  reads  this  over  to  the  young 
detective,  and  tells  him  all  of  his  discoveries  this  day. 

"  Now,"  he  says,  "  Louise  placed  three  red  roses  to-day 
upon  the  hiding-place  of  the  Prince  ;  that  was  the  sign 
by  which  it  was  to  be  recognized.  The  coco-vender 
wore  one  for  answer,  and  left  two,  to  tell  her  that  he  had 
discovered  and  examined  this  hole.  The  coco-merchant 
is " 

"  The  chemist  Hermann  !  "  cries  Microbe,  suddenly 
and  excitedly. 

"  Precisely  !  "  returns  Maurice.  "  But  why  did  Lieber 
and  the  girl  keep  a  copy  of  this  portion  of  the  cipher 
after  delivering  it?  For  Hermann's  actions  to-day 
showed  that  he  had  received  his  instructions  so  far." 


184  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

This  puts  Monsieur  Ravel  into  a  meditation. 

In  a  moment,  however,  de  Verney  suggests :  "  Per- 
haps they  were  afraid  Hermann  might  lose  his  cigar- 
ette-paper, as  he  once  did  his  cipher  letters  ;  and  kept 
this  first  portion,  to  replace  it,  if  necessary  ;  not  daring, 
in  so  important  a  matter,  to  trust  their  memories.'' 

Here  Microbe  suddenly  remembers,  and  remarks : 
"  Yes,  Louise  kept  a  copy  of  those  letters,  and  Auguste 
the  words  to  complete  it ; "  and,  with  this,  tells  Maurice 
of  the  remarks  of  Lieber  at  Les  Arenes  to  the  girl  : 
"  You've  got  the  letters.  Don't  get  all  our  eggs  in  one 
basket ! " 

"That  probably  accounts  for  it,"  says  de  Verney. 
"  But  the  last  portion — that's  what  interests  us  most 
now.  Hermann  has  not  received  this  as  yet !  "  And  he 
repeats,  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  the  words  of  the 
cipher  :  "On  receipt  of  this,  work  gas -plan  you  have  pro- 
posed." 

"  I  wonder  what  that  is  ?  Gas-plan  !  I  told  you  they'd 
kill  the  Prince  in  a  highly  scientific  manner ! "  cries 
Microbe.  Then  he  seems  to  be  astounded  at  his  own 
shrewdness,  and  mutters  :  "  Ain't  I  a  guesser  ? " 

To  this,  for  a  moment,  Maurice  says  nothing  ;  he  is 
running  over,  in  his  mind,  the  letter  he  has  received  from 
his  friend  of  the  School  of  Mines.  After  a  little,  he  sud- 
denly exclaims  :  "  I  think  I  can  answer  your  question 
now,  Monsieur  Microbe.  This,  I  take  it,  is  about  the 
programme  of  these  conspirators  :  If  the  weather  is  fine, 
and  Louise  believes  the  Prince  is  certain  to  come  to  the 
Bois,  she  will  give  the  remainder  of  the  cipher,  in  some 
way,  to  the  chemist  Hermann.  Then,  after  the  workmen 
have  eaten  their  lunch,  and  as  shortly  as  possible  before 
the  Prince's  arrival — probably  after  he  is  already  in  the 
Bois — this  Hermann  will  fill  the  shaft,  in  which  the  boy 
hides,  with  carbonic-acid  gas.  With  the  cover  on,  despite 
the  diffusion  of  gases,  the  hole  will  then  be  deadly  for 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  185 

an  hour — perhaps  two.  The  Prince  descends  unseen 
into  his  hiding-place.  Before  he  can  possibly  climb  out 
again  he  has  fainted,  and  in  five  minutes  is  dead.  One 
of  his  companions  seeks  for  him  for,  perhaps,  half  an 
hour  ;  then  gives  up  the  search.  The  Prince  does  not 
return.  But  little  is  thought  of  this  for  a  few  minutes. 
Then  his  attendants  begin  to  grow  anxious.  They  look 
for  him.  They  may  be  an  hour  or  two  in  discovering  the 
body,  and  the  chances  are  that  time  has  been  given  for 
the  carbonic-acid  gas  to  diffuse  itself  into  the  atmosphere. 
If  so,  I  imagine  it  would  puzzle  the  doctors  to  say  what 
killed  him.  They  may  perhaps  think  the  boy  died  from 
natural  causes.  Even  if  they  guess  what  destroyed 
him,  who  shall  say  whether  it's  nature  or  art  that  depos- 
ited the  fatal  gas  in  a  shaft  in  the  ground,  when  it's  so 
often  found  in  such  places  ?  The  Prince's  death  may  be 
thought,  by  the  doctors,  to  be  natural  or  accidental.  Or, 
if  foul  play  is  suspected,  it  will  be  difficult — almost 
impossible — to  prove  against  those  conspirators,  who'll 
have  a  better  chance  of  escape  than  any  regicides  ever 
did  since  the  assassination  of  Julius  Caesar  !  That's 
how  Lieber,  Louise,  and  Hermann  have  reasoned  out 
their  programme  for  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !  You  think  they'll  act  to-morrow  ?  " 
asks  Ravel,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  if  the  weather  permits,"  says  Maurice.  "  Louise 
has  strength  of  mind  sufficient  to  act  without  Lieber  ; 
and  every  delay,  now  that  they  are  ready,  increases  the 
danger  to  them  and  their  conspiracy. " 

"  Then  what  a  surpriser  we've  got  for  them  to-mor- 
row !  "  cries  Microbe  enthusiastically.  A  moment  after, 
he  says  :  "  Should  we  not  keep  a  watch  on  mademoiselle 
to-night  to  see  if  she  communicates  with  this  Hermann  ? " 

"  Neither  to-night  nor  to-morrow  !  "  returns  de  Verney. 
"  The  girl  may  be  suspicious  now.  Let  her  imagine  she  is 
watched,  and  she  may  never  attempt  to  carry  out  her  plan." 


l86  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Then  what  shall  we  watch  ? "  mutters  Ravel,  desper- 
ately. "  We  must  watch  something  to-morrow." 

"  Watch  the  spot  where  the  Prince  Imperial  is  to  hide  !  " 
says  Maurice.  "  There  is  the  place  this  conspiracy  must 
culminate.  There's  where  we  can  best  protect  the  Prince. 
There's  where  we'll  catch  the  chemist  !  " 

"  What  a  mind  you  have  !  "  cries  Ravel,  enthusiastic- 
ally. "And  how  much  money  does  monsieur  get  for  all 
this  ?  " 

"  None  !  "  replies  de  Verney. 

"  None  !  "  echoes  the  young  detective  ;  "  NONE  !  Then 
for  what  do  you  take  so  much  trouble  and  so  much  risk  ? " 

"  For  France  !  "  cries  de  Verney ;  "  for  France  ! " 

"  Ah  !  you  are  an  Imperialist  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  A  Republican  ? " 

"No." 

"  Then  for  what  government  are  you  ? " 

"  For  the  government  in  power  !  What  this  country 
wants  is  stability  ;  and  I'm  for  any  government  that's  IN, 
if  it's  half-way  good.  Curse  the  idiots  who  want  a  change 
because  the  crops  are  not  large,  or  business  is  slack,  or 
money  is  tight,  or  provisions  high,  or  the  sun  is  too 
hot,  or  the  winter  too  cold  !  A  government  can't  make 
all  men  happy  ;  it  can  only  give  every  good  citizen  a 
chance  to  be.  First,  last,  and  forever,  I'm  for  FRANCE  !  " 
and  de  Verney  looks  out  dreamily  over  the  city,  from 
which,  even  now,  the  lights  are  dying  out,  and  upon  which 
the  hush  of  early  morning  is  coming  ;  then  murmurs, 
"  TO-MORROW  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

TO-MORROW  ! 

DE  VERNEY  awakes,  to  meet  two  surprises — one  a 
pleasure,  the  other  an  annoyance  :  Francois  brings  in 
the  first,  a  note  brought  by  one  of  General  Lapusch- 
kin's  lackeys.  It  is  in  the  Russian's  usual  hearty  style, 
and  runs  as  follows  : 

137  RUE  DU  FAUBOURG  ST.  HONORE, 

Thursday,  April  23d,  1868. 
MY  DEAR  DE  VERNEY  : 

As  neither  you  nor  your  governess  came  to  hand  yesterday,  I 
take  the  liberty  of  reminding  you  of  your  promise  to  call  upon  me 
before  I  leave  France.  Ora  asks  me  to  say  to  you  to  be  sure  and 
come  yourself — that  she  can  do  without  a  governess. 

In  the  first  part,  I  agree  with  her.  As  to  a  teacher  for  my 
child,  you  can  send  her  after  us  if  necessary.  I  shall  stay  in  Cologne 
one  day  ;  Frankfort,  two  ;  Berlin,  perhaps  a  week  ;  and  St.  Peters- 
burg till  June — it  being  too  cold  at  Tula  to  enjoy  the  country  till 
then. 

In  case  you  can  find  a  governess  to-day,  you  can  send  her, 
up  to  three  o'clock  P.M.,  as  I  have  the  passport  for  the  other  one  as 
member  of  my  suite,  and  am  so  well  known  that  there  will  be  no  trouble 
about  the  substitution. 

However,  I  hope  to  see  you  in  person,  and  shall  remain  at  my 
address  until  the  time  above  mentioned,  when  I  leave  for  the  rail- 
road station  to  catch  the  3.30  train. 

You  need  not  fear  to  miss  me  ;  I  am  too  much  ashamed  to  go  out 
to  the  clubs  or  cafes.  That  fool,  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  has  wrestled 


1 88  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

with  the  idiot  in  the  mask,  and  had  his  shoulder  broken.  But  I  pre- 
sume you've  read  all  this  in  the  morning  papers,  and  can  understand 
my  disgust  and  chagrin. 

I  can  better  give  you  all  details  in  person,  so  shall  simply  write  an 
au  revoir,  in  which  my  little  daughter  joins.  Your  kindness  to  her 
yesterday  seems  to  have  captured  the  child's  heart,  as  it  has  that  of 
her  father. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

ALEXIS  LAPUSCHKIN. 

Over  the  latter  part  of  the  note,  de  Verney  smiles 
curiously  ;  and  a  moment  after,  looking  at  his  little  finger, 
by  this  time  tightly  bandaged,  he  mutters,  "  The  idiot  in 
the  mask  got  a  broken  digit  also  !'" 

This  letter  makes  him  think  he  has  a  good  deal  to 
do  to-day — whether  he  sees  the  general  or  no.  He 
springs  up  to  a  hasty  toilet  and  breakfast  ;  but  long  before 
this  is  finished,  the  annoyance  comes  to  him,  brought  by 
Microbe. 

This  gentleman  would  be  too  excited  to  speak,  were 
he  not  French,  a  race  that  becomes  voluble  when  nerv- 
ous. He  cries  :  "  Monsieur  de  Verney,  send  your  man 
away  !  I  have  something  to  tell  you  that  will  make  you 
tear  your  hair  and  scream  and  curse  as  I  did  !  Le  vieux 

voleur  !  Le  sacre  cochon  !  Le  diable "  And  Microbe 

explodes  into  a  burst  of  sprightly  profanity  that  is  hardly 
checked  by  Maurice's  voice.  He  first  asks  Francois  to 
retire  ;  then  says,  "  Now  !  " — and  waits,  bracing  his 
nerves  for  some  sudden  calamity. 

"  The  cursed  scoundrel  !  " 

"Yes!" 

"  The  miserable  thief  !  " 

"Who?" 

"  The  pig  !  the  dog  !  the  devil !  the  sneak -thief !  the 
damnable " 

He  gets  no  further  ;  for  de  Verney,  in  impatient  rage, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  189 

has  shoved  him  into  another  room,  remarking  :  "  Do  all 
your  swearing  in  there  !  When  you  have  finished,  come 
back  and  tell  me  your  story." 

This  brings  Microbe  down  to  facts.  He  instantly 
returns,  and  says  :  "  That  head  of  our  department, 
Monsieur  Claude,  wishes  to  steal  all  your  glory." 

"  I  have  known  that  all  along,"  murmurs  Maurice, 
with  an  involuntary  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  had  feared  some- 
thing much  more  serious.  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  No  ;  some  one  has  blabbed  to  him  !  " 

"  Ah !  " 

"  About  the  Liebers  ;  and  he  has  sent  officers,  with 
their  descriptions,  to  every  railroad  station  in  Paris,  to 
arrest  any  of  them  if  they  try  to  leave  town." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this  ? "  asks  Maurice  earnestly. 

"  Certain  !  "  cries  Microbe.  "  I  saw  the  officers  de- 
tailed to  each  depot  myself.  Ain't  it  a  cursed  shame  ? " 

"  No  ;  it's  exactly  what  I  was  going  to  do  myself  this 
morning,  had  not  my  friend  Claude  saved  me  the  trouble," 
remarks  de  Verney,  though  perhaps  there  is  a  trace  of 
annoyance  in  his  tone ;  for  he  hardly  likes  any  interfer- 
ence in  his  arrangements  for  the  day. 

A  moment  after,  he  says  :  "  Don't  trouble  yourself, 
Microbe,  with  the  railway  stations.  This  day  we've  only 
one  point  of  action — the  Bois  de  Boulogne  !  Now,  go  off 
and  discover,  as  soon  as  possible,  if  the  Prince  plays  in 
the  park  this  afternoon.  Then  send  Regnier,  Marcillac, 
and  Jolly  to  me." 

Microbe  departs,  and  Maurice,  looking  at  his  watch, 
thinks  he  has  sufficient  time  to  attempt  to  fulfill  the  gen- 
eral's errand.  He  sends  a  couple  of  notes  by  Frangois 
to  relatives  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  asking  if  they 
know  of  any  gentlewoman  they  can  recommend  for  such 
a  position  ;  for  he  has  made  up  his  mind,  if  possible,  to 
once  more  see  the  beautiful  child  who  had  so  charmed 
him  the  morning  before,  and  hardly  cares  to  visit  La- 


190  THAT  FRENCHMAN! 

puschkin  without  having  made  some  attempt  to  fulfill  his 
promise. 

At  about  twelve  o'clock  Fran£ois  returns  with  answers 
to  these,  that  give  him  no  hope  of  finding  a  lady  for  the 
position  this  day — the  time  is  too  short. 

A  few  minutes  after,  Ravel  comes  in  with  the  news 
that  the  Prince  will  leave  for  the  Bois  shortly  before  two 
in  the  afternoon.  With  him  come  Regnier,  Jolly,  and 
Marcillac. 

To  these  officers  Monsieur  de  Verney  gives  some  very 
careful  instructions  ;  and,  as  soon  as  they  are  gone,  calls 
a  cab  and  drives  out  to  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation,  with 
a  very  serious  look  on  his  face. 

On  the  road  passing  into  the  Avenue  de  1'Imperatrice, 
he  overtakes  a  coco-vender  trudging  along  the  footpath. 
A  casual  glance  reveals  to  him  it  is  the  same  disreputable 
one  whose  single  rose  attracted  his  attention  the  day 
before.  Maurice  apparently  takes  no  more  heed  of  him 
than  he  does  of  the  thousand  other  pedestrians  on  the 
avenue;  but  a  peculiar  look  flashes  over  his  face.  It  is 
that  of  the  hunter  when  he  sees  the  stag  coming  past  his 
shooting-stand,  and  within  very  easy  range. 

Leaving  his  hack  at  the  entrance  of  the  Jardin  d'Accli- 
matation, he  looks  about  to  see  if  the  flower-girl  is  here  ; 
apparently  she  has  not  yet  arrived.  Next,  carefully 
noting  she  is  not  even  in  sight,  he  strolls  along  the 
Madrid  road,  and,  after  getting  well  out  of  eye-shot  of 
the  garden,  makes  cautiously  through  the  trees  for  the 
thicket  from  which  he  first  saw  Ora  gazing  into  her 
"  bear's  nest."  Thoroughly  concealed  by  the  thick  shrub- 
bery, he  waits  and  watches  for  almost  half  an  hour. 

Then — at  last — it  comes  ! 

The  old  coco-vender,  tramping  along  the  path,  sees 
the  little  hillock,  and  thinks  it  would  be  a  good  place  to 
eat  his  lunch.  He  sits  down  under  the  shade  of  a  tree 
beside  the  mound,  and,  after  unbuckling  the  straps  which 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  19! 

hold  it  on  his  back,  places  the  large  tin  cylinder,  pecul- 
iar to  his  trade,  with  its  two  tubes  immediately  over  the 
crevice  through  which  Maurice  had,  the  day  before, 
passed  his  hands ;  then  pulls  out  a  package  of  rye  bread 
and  German  sausage,  and  attacks  the  food — though 
Maurice  notes  his  appetite  is  not  very  good,  and  once  or 
twice  his  hand  trembles. 

He  has  not  been  eating  over  two  minutes,  when,  as  it 
lifts  the  sausage  to  his  mouth,  his  arm  pauses,  the 
sausage  falls  upon  the  grass — Louise,  the  flower-girl,  is 
passing  along  the  path,  singing  a  little  Tyrolean  love 
song  ;  in  her  hand  a  basket  of  spring  roses— red,  fra- 
grant, and  covered  with  dew  ! 

She  walks  past  without  even  appearing  to  see  the 
coco-vender,  and  trips  on  her  way  toward  the  Jardin 
d '  Acclimatation. 

As  she  passes  from  view,  the  coco-merchant  hastily 
uncovers  his  cylinder,  and  in  it  inserts  his  hand,  making 
some  peculiar  preparations.  A  moment  after,  he  pulls 
out  the  two  tubes,  used  in  dispensing  his  beverage  to 
the  thirsty  public  ;  under  his  manipulation  these  sud- 
denly grow  from  two  feet  in  length  to  eight,  and  are 
rapidly  inserted  in  the  crevice  far  enough  to  reach  the 
bottom  of  the  little  shaft  ! 

Then  the  coco-vender  is  hungry  again,  and  sits  down 
lazily  to  eat  once  more  his  lunch,  beside  the  tin  instru- 
ment that  contains  the  drink  he  has  to  sell.  Once  or 
twice,  however,  he  pauses  in  his  eating,  to  shake  his 
machine,  as  if  the  coco  in  it  needed  agitating. 

This  goes  on. 

The  man's  lunch  seems  a  long  one.  He  has  finished 
eating  his  sausage  ;  he  rises,  looks  through  his  pair  of 
spectacles  at  his  old  silver  watch,  then  suddenly  sits 
down  again,  and  waits,  and  waits  ;  though  de  Verney,  as 
he  glares  at  him,  can  see  what  a  power  his  nerves  have 
to  exercise  over  his  muscles,  to  force  them  to  be  tran- 


IQ2  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

quil,  and  not  carry  him,  despite  himself,  from  beside  his 
innocent  machine. 

Once,  a  bird  lights  upon  a  branch  near  him,  and  the 
coco-vender  trembles.  A  squirrel  runs  across  the  path, 
and  he  starts,  with  a  little  hoarse,  almost  inarticulate  cry. 
Though  making  no  exertion,  beads  of  perspiration  gather 
upon  his  brow  and  dim  his  spectacles ;  his  hands,  appar- 
ently, grow  clammy  and  moist,  for  he  wipes  them  nerv- 
ously on  the  towels  all  coco-merchants  carry  to  cleanse 
their  glasses.  And  so  the  old  fellow  waits. 

After  a  time,  however,  he  again  consults  his  watch, 
gives  a  sigh  of  relief,  suddenly  rises  up,  and  is  about  to 
strap  his  cylinder  on  his  shoulder.  In  another  moment 
he  will  be  on  his  way  to  sell  his  coco  to  the  children, 
whose  shouts  come  faintly  from  the  garden.  As  he  does 
this,  Maurice  gives  the  signal. 

Before  the  man  can  turn  about,  four  forms  spring  from 
the  thickets  behind  him  ;  but,  quick  as  they  are,  he 
would  draw  a  pistol,  were  not  de  Verney's  clutch  upon 
his  arms ;  and  in  it  he  is  helpless  as  a  child.  A 
moment  after,  he  is  bound,  hand  and  foot,  by  Marcillac 
and  Regnier,  who  are  experts  at  this  business,  and  is 
tossed  on  the  ground,  alongside  of  his  coco-machine, 
into  which  Maurice  looks  with  curious  interest ;  for  the 
innocent  tin  cylinder  is  occupied  by  the  carbonic  acid 
apparatus,  which,  in  full  action,  is  still  bubbling  away, 
and  discharging  rapidly,  through  the  two  tubes  leading 
from  it,  volumes  of  the  deadly  gas  into  the  hole  in  which 
the  Prince  Imperial  is  expected  to  hide  within  the  next 
half-hour. 

In  the  struggle,  the  coco-merchant's  cap  and  wig 
have  been  knocked  off.  As  Maurice  turns,  he  recognizes 
him,  and  laughs  :  "  The  German  chemist  of  the  Rue  de 
Maubeuge  ! " 

And  the  other,  glaring  at  him,  makes  a  great  start, 
then  mutters  :  "  My  kind  friend,  who  protected  me  from 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  193 

the  police  and  returned  my  letters  ! "  next,  grinds  his 
teeth,  and  hisses :  "  Monsieur  de  Verney,  the  police 
spy,  if  we  but  meet  again,  mouchard!  " 

*'  Get  him  away  from  here,"  says  Maurice  slowly  ;  for 
this  epithet  is  like  a  slap  in  the  face  to  him.  "  You  have 
the  cab  in  waiting  in  a  quiet  road.  Gag  him,  so  his 
voice  can  warn  no  accomplice  !  " 

At  this,  the  chemist  mutters  something,  then  says 
aloud,  almost  desperately  :  "  I  have  no  accomplice  !  " 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  jeers  Microbe  ;  "  how  about  the  flower- 
girl,  and  Lieber  and  his  mother,  and  the  cat  Lamia  ?  Curse 
me  !  if  I  don't  execute  that  Lamia  without  trial  !  "  At 
this,  Marcillac  and  Regnier  give  a  snicker  ;  for  Ravel's 
face  is  still  a  living  record  of  the  old  woman's  handi- 
work ;  and  they,  not  knowing  the  truth,  imagine  the  cat's 
claws  have  made  Microbe  the  spectacle  he  is. 

"  Do  what  I  tell  you  !  "  says  Maurice  impatiently  ; 
and,  as  they  do  his  bidding,  he  thinks  he  hears  two  words 
gasped  from  beneath  the  gag  they  force  between  the 
German  chemist's  teeth — "  My  sister  !  "  and  knows  there 
are  tears  in  the  man's  eyes  as  he  is  led  away  en  route 
for  Mazas. 

Marcillac  and  Jolly  do  this  business,  also  carrying 
carefully  with  them  the  coco-machine.  The  whole  affair 
has  not  taken  over  a  minute,  and  de  Verney,  Microbe, 
and  Regnier  are  left  standing,  looking  into  the  little 
shaft,  from  which  Maurice  has  just  removed  the  cover. 

"  Now  watch — and  note  this,  to  incorporate  in  your 
evidence  !  "  cries  Maurice;  and  he  drops  a  lighted  match 
into  the  place.  Though  burning  brightly,  its  flame  dies 
suddenly  as  it  reaches  the  entrance. 

"  First  test  !  "  mutters  de  Verney  ;  "but  I  must  have 
several.  Now  for  some  paper  !  " 

He  hastily  feels  in  his  pocket,  produces  two  or  three 
letters,  and  selects  the  least  important;  it  is  that  from 
General  Lapuschkin.  This  he  lights,  and,  shoving  it 
13 


194  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

into  the  hole,  it  is  extinguished  in  a  moment.  Throw- 
ing this  on  one  side — for  he  is  working  very  rapidly — he 
suddenly  turns  to  Microbe,  and  says  :  "  Quick  !  where 
is  the  living  animal  I  told  you  to  bring,  that  this  evi- 
dence might  be  perfectly  and  thoroughly  conclusive  ?  " 

"  All  right ;  I've  got  it !  " 

u  Then  bring  it  at  once  !  We've  no  time  to  lose  !  The 
Prince  may  be  here  in  a  minute.  Do  you  suppose  I  wish 
that  child  to  know  his  life  has  been  endangered  by  one 
he  loves? — to  poison  his  youth  by  the  suspicions  that 
make  every  monarch  wretched  ?  " 

While  he  has  been  speaking,  Microbe,  who  has  needed 
no  second  order,  has  been  acting.  He  runs  to  a  neigh- 
boring thicket,  and  returns  with  a  bag  in  his  hand. 
Untying  the  mouth  of  this,  he  produces,  with  a  grin  of 
triumph — LAMLA  ! 

On  seeing  the  beast,  which  gives  a  hideous  "meow!" 
even  the  chevalier  can't  restrain  a  smile.  He  mutters  : 
"  For  our  purpose,  as  good  as  any  other  animal  !  " 

"  Better  !  "  returns  Microbe.  "  A  cat  has  nine  lives  !  " 
and  is  about  to  toss  the  creature  into  the  hole. 

But  Maurice  stops  him  suddenly,  and  says  :  "  Tie  a 
cord  to  him  and  lower  him  in  !  We  must  be  able  to 
swear  he  died  from  this  gas — not  from  a  fall." 

This  is  done. 

As  the  cat  reaches  the  entrance,  it-  gives  one  short, 
gasping  howl  ;  the  next  instant  its  limbs  relax  ;  two  feet 
from  the  surface  it  is  insensible,  and  upon  the  floor  of 
the  hole  it  lies  without  motion. 

De  Verney  looks  at  his  watch.  Five  minutes  after  this 
he  orders  it  to  be  drawn  up  ;  and,  after  inspecting  the 
beast,  remarks  :  "  Madame  Lieber  has  lost  her  pet.  Lamia 
is  as  dead  as  the  Prince  would  have  been  ! " 

And  Microbe,  with  unconcealed  joy,  mutters  :  "  Thank 
God  !  One  of  them  has  gone  !  " 

"  Now,"  cries  de  Verney,  "  to  make  this  place  HARM- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  195 

LESS  !  "  And  under  his  directions  Regnier,  who  has  made 
some  preparation,  drenches  the  shaft  with  lime-water — 
he  having  been  ordered  to  bring  that  alkali  with  him. 
Then,  after  agitating  the  gas  in  the  hole  with  some 
bushes,  and  thrashing  the  air  into  it  and  out  of  it  vigor- 
ously for  a  little  time,  the  chevalier  lights  a  match,  drops 
it  to  the  bottom,  and  it  burns. 

Upon  this,  Maurice  descends  cautiously  the  little  ladder, 
and,  after  coming  out  again,  remarks  :  "  Now  the  Prince 
can  play  this  afternoon,  harmless  and  scatheless,  and 
not  dreaming  that  his  life  has  been  so  near  the  grasp  of 
assassins." 

The  noise  from  the  road  is  louder,  the  hum  from  the 
distant  garden  more  pronounced  ;  the  Bois  is  filling  up 
with  its  gay  crowd.  He  hurriedly  directs  Microbe  to 
take  Regnier  and  station  themselves  on  watch  over 
Madame  Lieber's  house — to  permit  no  one  to  go  there 
or  come  away  from  it  ;  in  case  the  old  woman  shows 
any  sign  of  leaving  the  premises,  to  arrest  her.  "  I 
rather  imagine,  with  Regnier's  assistance,  you  can  man- 
age the  old  lady  !  "  mutters  Maurice,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  the  flower-girl  ? "  suddenly  asks  Microbe. 

"  I  will  look  after  that  young  lady,"  replies  the  chev- 
alier confidently,  and  turns  toward  the  Jardin  d'Acclima- 
tation. 

So  the  two  officers  depart.  When  they  are  out  of  ear- 
shot, Ravel  suddenly  turns  to  the  silent  Regnier,  laughs, 
and  says  :  "  It's  a  pity  she's  so  beautiful,  and  Monsieur 
de  Verney  so  young  !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  interjects  his  saturnine  companion. 

"  Because  his  temptation  this  afternoon  will  be  so 
enormous." 

"  Yes,  I  never  like  to  arrest  beautiful  women,"  mutters 
Regnier,  solemnly  ;  "  their  wrists  are  nearly  always  too 
small  for  my  handcuffs."  This  glum  rejoinder  checks 
Ravel,  who  appears  at  present  in  high  spirits. 


196  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Maurice  de  Verney  looks  at  his  watch  ;  it  is  but  five 
minutes  of  two.  Then  he  mutters  :  "  Now  for  the  last  of 
them  !  I'll  give  her  no  more  mercy  than  she  would  have 
given  her  little  victim."  A  moment  after  he  thinks,  with 
a  sigh,  "  And  so  young  and  beautiful  !  "  then  strides 
toward  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation,  determined  to  do  his 
duty  despite  this  assassin's  loveliness  and  tender  age. 
As  he  disappears  round  a  turn  in  the  path,  a  girl — who 
has  been  lying  concealed  in  the  thicket,  panting  and 
trembling,  and  gazing  at  him  while  he  has  been  at  work 
on  the  shaft,  and  choking  down  her  moans  of  baffled 
malice  and  anxious  despair — staggers  up  and  almost 
reels  toward  the  hiding-place  of  the  Prince. 

It  is  Louise,  who — the  time  drawing  very  near  for  her 
royal  prey — has  cautiously  returned,  to  be  absolutely  sure 
that  her  trap  is  set  and  baited.  She  has  seen  Maurice 
descend  into  the  hole  and  return  alive — enough  to  tell 
her  all  is  wrong  !  She  only  goes  near  the  place  to  dis- 
cover if  there  is  a  possibility  of  her  brother's  escape. 
The  signs  of  the  struggle  tell  her  that  hope  is  gone. 
She  is  turning  away  with  a  sigh  of  utter,  helpless 
despair,  when,  catching  sight  of  a  paper  lying  near  the 
shaft,  she  picks  it  up  in  almost  unreasoning  misery, 
glances  at  it,  then  starts  and  reads  it  over  carefully 
again. 

The  next  moment,  with  a  flush  of  hope  and  excite- 
ment on  her  face,  the  girl  starts  and  runs  with  all  her 
might  through  one  of  the  small  paths  leading  to  the 
Allee  de  Longchamp.  Hurrying  along  this  a  little  way, 
she  chances  to  find  an  unengaged  cab,  and,  getting  in, 
cries  :  "  Rue  des  Vignes — double  speed,  double  pour- 
boire  !  " 

Unconscious  of  this,  Maurice  gets  to  the  Madrid  road, 
and  finds  the  Imperial  equipages  drawn  up  by  the  spot 
the  Prince  uses  as  a  play-ground. 

The  boy  has  several  of  his  companions  with  him,  and 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  197 

apparently  is  ready  for  a  prolonged  game.  The  tutor  is 
with  them,  blinking  through  his  glasses  at  their  prepara- 
tions. From  the  crowd  of  passing  carriages  and  pedes- 
trians, quite  a  number  have  clustered  round  the  Imperial 
party. 

Into  this  throng  de  Verney  plunges,  thinking  surely 
that  the  girl  will  be  here.  He  is  soon  conscious  that  he 
is  mistaken  ;  for  he  hears  the  Prince  asking  for  her  also, 
and  saying  that  Mademoiselle  Louise  had  promised  to 
bring  a  most  beautiful  prize  for  the  longest  hider  in  that 
day's  game  ;  that  they'll  wait  a  little — Mademoiselle 
Louise  will  surely  come  !  " 

Agreeing  in  this  view,  Maurice  stands  looking,  even 
more  impatiently  and  more  anxiously  than  the  royal  boy, 
into  the  throng  of  people  and  vehicles  passing  along  the 
Madrid  road. 

After  a  little  the  Prince  grows  almost  petulant,  and 
cries  :  "  She  never  disappointed  me  before  ! — and  I've 
brought  a  pocket  full  of  money  to-day,  to  buy  her  roses  !  " 

Maurice  can  remain  idle  no  longer.  He  strides  to 
the  entrance  of  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation.  The  girl  is 
not  there  ;  then  hurries  back  to  the  Prince's  party — no 
Louise  ! 

A  moment  after  his  return,  a  little  boy  says  to  the 
Prince  :  "  Young  emperor,  I  saw  the  flower-girl  walk- 
ing along  that  path,"  and  points  toward  the  one  leading 
to  the  hiding-place. 

"  Ah  !  she  was  going  to  fix  my "  cries  the  Prince  ; 

then  suddenly  checks  himself,  fearing  to  disclose  his  point 
of  concealment  to  his  companions.  A  moment  after,  he 
asks  the  urchin:  "How  long  ago  did  you  see  Made- 
moiselle Louise  ? " 

"  Oh,  just  before  you  drove  up  here,  little  king  !  " 

"  Why,  that  was  at  ten  minutes  to  two,  you  remember, 
Conneau,"  says  the  Prince  to  his  pet  companion.  "  Louise 
has  been  away  twenty-five  minutes  !  " 


198  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

As  for  de  Verney,  he  has  given  one  mighty  start,  and 
is  running  to  gain  his  cab  at  the  gate  of  the  gardens.  If 
Louise  passed  along  that  path  at  ten  minutes  before  two, 
she  must  have  seen  him  at  work  at  the  Prince's  hiding- 
place,  and  have  known  that  her  plot  had  been  discovered 
and  destroyed. 

Stimulating  his  hackman  by  the  only  bribe  that  appeals 
to  a  French  hackman's  soul — a  double  pourboire — Mau- 
rice is  now  driven  rapidly  to  the  Rue  des  Vignes,  to  find 
there  Microbe  and  Regnier  watching  Lieber's  house. 

In  answer  to  his  hurried  questions,  they  say  that  no  one 
since  their  arrival  has  entered  the  Alsacian's  home. 

"  Has  any  one  left  it  ? "  asks  Maurice. 

"  No  !  "  replies  Microbe  ;  <:  but  as  we  came  into  one 
end  of  this  street  a  cab  was  disappearing  at  the  other,  and 
going  like  the  deuce — though  we  have  no  reason  to 
imagine  it  came  from  Lieber's  houre." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ? " 

"  About  ten  minutes  !  " 

"  Very  well,"  says  de  Verney  ;  "  we'll  search  Lieber's 
house  !  " 

As  they  walk  to  the  door,  Maurice  questions  Microbe 
a  little  more  closely  about  the  police  arrangements  at  the 
stations.  "  You  don't  think  the  girl  could  leave  Paris 
by  rail  ?  "  he  queries. 

"  What  !  one  of  the  Lieber  family  ?  Not  with  Mr. 
Claude's  special  officers  and  special  directions  at  every 
station  !  Besides,  if  she  walked  out  of  Paris,  how  is 
she  to  get  out  of  France  without  a  passport  ?  They'd  be 
sure  to  stop  her  on  the  frontier  !  "  returns  Microbe. 

That  the  girl  cannot  escape  from  France  now  seems 
certain  to  de  Verney,  as  he  remembers  how  anxious  she 
had  been  for  a  passport  for  Madame  Lieber  and  servant 
— and  concludes  Louise  meant,  if  necessary,  to  play  the 
part  of  domestic  to  the  old  woman  till  they  passed  out 
of  France. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  199 

By  the  time  he  has  calmed  himself  with  this  idea,  the 
party  have  come  to  the  gate  of  Lieber's  garden.  Leav- 
ing Regnier  and  Microbe  out  of  sight,  Maurice  walks  to 
the  front  door  ;  and,  after  making  considerable  noise 
without  response,  strolls  round  to  the  back  garden,  to 
find  Madame  Lieber  disconsolately  looking  for  her  cat. 

She  would  give  him  a  pathetic  account  of  Lamia's 
adventures  of  the  last  two  days,  but  he  stops  her  by 
saying,  in  German,  that  he  would  like  to  see  Miss  Louise 
on  immediate  business. 

At  this,  from  pathos  the  old  woman  goes  into  rage. 
"  Louise  !  "  she  cries.  "  You  want  that  worthless  Louise  ! 
That  lazy  hussy  went  toward  the  city  not  ten  minutes 
ago,  when  she  should  have  been  earning  her  bread  sell- 
ing flowers  to  the  Prince  at  the  park  !  Yes,  drove  up 
from  the  'Bois  in  a  hired  cab — a  two-franc-an-hour  voiture  ! 
— ran  up-stairs,  though  I  screamed  to  her  to  come  and 
help  find  Lamia,  and  three  minutes  after  flew  down 
again  and  drove  off  like  on  a  race-course  for  the  city  ! 
She  must  have  given  the  driver  extra  money — he  went  so 
fast.  There's  extravagance " 

The  old  lady  pauses  in  her  harangue  ;  for  de  Verney, 
on  hearing  this,  has  bolted  for  the  front  gate,  where  he 
meets  Regnier  and  Microbe.  Charging  the  former  to 
search  the  house  and  arrest  Madame  Lieber,  but  to  treat 
her  with  great  kindness,  he  takes  Microbe  with  him  and 
runs  to  his  cab.  "  Now,"  he  says,  "  which  way  did  you 
see  that  hack  disappear  ?  " 

"  Toward  the  Champs  Elysees  !  " 

"  That's  rather  a  roundabout  way  to  the  Hospital  Val 
de  Grace  !  "  remarks  Maurice;  and  he  hustles  Microbe  in, 
and  tells  the  driver  to  take  them  straight  for  the  Champs 
Elysees.  While  they  rattle  along,  Maurice  thinks,  and 
they  are  no  sooner  near  a  hack-stand  than  he  tells  his 
assistant  to  jump  out,  take  another  carriage,  and  hurry 
to  the  hospital  ;  for  he  has  an  idea  Louise  may  have  gone 


2OO  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

there  to  warn  Lieber  and  assist  his  escape  ;  though  the 
route  she  has  apparently  taken  leads  from  the  Val  de 
Grace,  and  much  more  in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  de 
Maubeuge,  where,  he  has  a  faint  hope,  she  may  have 
driven  to  warn  the  chemist  Hermann  ;  for  he  is  not  sure 
Louise  knows  of  her  brother's  arrest. 

So,  when  his  driver  asks  for  further  instructions, 
Maurice  tells  him,  55  Rue  de  Maubeuge,  like  lightning  ! 
He  looks  at  his  watch  ;  it  is  now  three  o'clock. 

Ten  minutes  after  this,  his  hack  is  stopped  by  a  jam 
of  vehicles  in  the  Rue  de  La  Fayette.  Next  to  him, 
going  in  the  same  direction,  is  a  carriage,  from  which  a 
girlish  voice  attracts  his  attention. 

He  glances  out,  and,  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  sees  Ora 
Lapuschkin. 

She  is  seated  on  her  father's  knee,  looking,  with 
eager,  childish  enjoyment,  on  the  busy  street  scene  about 
her,  and,  for  the  moment,  does  not  see  him. 

Behind  the  carriage  which  contains  Ora  and  the  gen- 
eral are  two  others,  filled  with  the  immediate  attendants 
of  this  great  Russian  boyard,  and  laden  with  the  minor 
baggage  of  his  family.  These  are  all  en  route  for  the 
Gare  du  Nord,  to  catch  the  3.30  express  for  Cologne 
and  Frankfort. 

The  driver  of  de  Verney's  cab  at  this  moment  sees  a 
chance  to  dodge  through  an  opening  in  the  crowded 
street,  and  suddenly  whips  up  for  the  effort. 

This  attracts  the  attention  of  both  the  father  and  the 
child.  Lapuschkin  waves  his  hand,  smiles,  and  says  some- 
thing that  the  roar  of  the  street  drowns  ;  but  Ora  cries 
out  with  all  her  little  might,  and  is  faintly  heard  : 
"  Thank  you  !  thank  you,  dear  Monsieur  de  Verney  ! 
I  like  her  very  much  ! " 

"Who  the  devil  is  she  thanking  me  for?"  wonders 
Maurice,  by  no  means  sure  he  has  heard  aright.  The 
child's  fair  hair  streaming  in  the  wind,  and  her  noble 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  2OI 

blue  eyes  gazing  eagerly  toward  him,  make  too  pretty  a 
picture  for  Maurice  not  to  take  another  glance  at  it. 

He  turns  his  head,  looks  back,  and  as  they  pass  from 
view  notes,  in  the  carriage  immediately  behind  that  of 
the  general,  the  honest-eyed  peasant  girl  Vassilissa,  and, 
seated  beside  her,  a  lady  muffled  in  a  dark  cloak,  and 
heavily  veiled.  The  aristocratic  figure  and  pose  of  the 
woman  are  so  different  from  those  of  the  average  Russian 
household  servant,  that  Maurice,  as  he  loses  sight  of  the 
party,  thinks  :  "  Lapuschkin  must  have  got  his  governess 
without  my  aid,  after  all  ! " 

The  next  moment  he  has  driven  even  the  beautiful  little 
girl  out  of  his  mind,  and  is  intent  once  more  on  the  arrest 
of  Louise,  the  flower-girl  of  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation. 

At  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge,  disappointment  again  awaits 
him.  No  one,  man  or  woman,  has  visited  the  apartments 
of  the  German  chemist  since  Hermann  deserted  them, 
nearly  forty-eight  hours  before  ! 

De  Verney's  next  immediate  hope  is,  that  Louise  may 
have  gone  to  the  Val  de  Grace  and  have  fallen  into  the 
clutches  of  Microbe,  or  some  of  the  officers  guarding 
the  helpless  Lieber.  He  drives  straight  to  that  hospital, 
and  finds  no  Louise  ;  though  Ravel  has  captured  her 
hackman,  that  worthy  having  just  driven  up  with  a  letter 
for  Auguste  Lieber,  marked  "  Immediate." 

He  is  now  in  custody,  and  jabbering  with  rage,  appar- 
ently not  at  his  captors,  but  at  the  girl,  for  getting  him 
into  such  a  scrape  ! 

Maurice  immediately  opens  this  note.  It  has  been 
hurriedly  written,  is  in  Louise's  handwriting,  and  gives 
him  some  curious  information  that  makes  him  start  and 
cry  out,  but  does  not  help  his  search  ;  for  it  reads  thus  : 

THURSDAY. 
MY  DARLING  HUSBAND  : 

Immediately  take  care  of  yourself.     I  am  safe. 

YOUR   LOVING    WIFE. 


202  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

After  the  first  moment  of  astonishment  at  the  relation- 
ship the  woman  bears  Lieber,  and  a  sudden  idea  enter- 
ing his  head  that  Louise  is  probably  more  cunning  than 
even  he  gave  her  the  credit  of  being,  Maurice  turns  to 
the  hackman,  who  is  so  savage  at  the  girl  that  he  gives  his 
information  without  asking  : 

"  I  had  driven  a  party  of  sports  out  to  the  race-course 
at  Longchamp,  and  was  returning  through  the  Bois, 
hoping  to  pick  up  a  fare,  when  a  girl,  breathless  and  pant- 
ing, ran  after  and  signaled  me." 

"  Where  did  this  happen  ? "  interrupts  de  Verney. 

"  On  the  Alice  de  Longchamp,  about  a  hundred  yards 
after  passing  the  road  to  the  Neuilly  gate." 

"  Ah  !  at  what  time  ?  " 

"  According  to  law,  I  showed  her  my  watch — because 
women  so  often  dispute  my  fare.  It  was  two  o'clock 
precisely." 

"  By  heaven  !  she  saw  us,  sure  !  "  mutters  Microbe,  and 
gives  a  melancholy  whistle. 

"  What  then  ? "  asks  de  Verney,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  I  drove  her,  as  fast  and  straight  as  I  could,  to 
a  house  near  the  Rue  des  Vignes." 

"  Yes  !  " 

"She  lives  there." 

"  I  know  that.     What  next  ?  " 

"  She  ran  into  the  house,  and  in  three  minutes  skipped 
out  again,  with  a  long,  dark  cloak  over  her  dress,  a  heavy 
veil  over  her  bonnet,  and  a  small  traveling-bag  in  her 
hand." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Well,  I'm  talking  as  fast  as  I  can  !  I  drove  her  to 
the  Champs  Elysees  ;  there  she  stopped  me,  got  out,  gave 
me  a  twenty-franc  piece  and  that  letter,  and  told  me  to 
deliver  it  at  once." 

"  What  time  did  she  leave  you  ? " 

"  About  twenty  minutes  to  three." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  203 

"Whereabouts  in  the  Champs  filysees  did  she  stop 
you  ? " 

"  At  a  little  distance  before  we  came  to  the  Rond 
Point." 

"  Which  way  did  she  go  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,  there  are  so  many  streets  running 
out  of  the  avenue  near  there.  She  went  north,  though, 
in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  du  Faubourg  St.  Honore." 

"  Was  she  in  a  hurry  ? " 

"  I  should  think  so  !  She  owed  me  only  three  francs, 
and  didn't  wait  for  change  for  her  twenty-franc  piece  ! 
Mon  Dieu  !  if  it  should  be  bad  !  " 

Here  the  hackman  suddenly  dives  into  hi$  pockets, 
produces  and  carefully  tests  Louise's  coin,  an -awful  fear 
having  fallen  on  him  during  his  last  speech. 

"  Get  on  your  box  and  drive  us  back  to  where  the  girl 
left  you  !  Do  it  quickly — and  not  a  word  of  this  to  any 
one,  or  you  may  find  yourself  in  a  place  that'll  astonish 
you  !  " 

Inspired  by  these  words,  the  hackman  gets  them  back  to 
where  Louise  left  him,  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  in  a  hurry. 

From  this  spot  Microbe  and  de  Verney  make  a  long, 
vigorous,  and  unsuccessful  search  and  inquiry  upon  alt 
the  streets  leading  north.  They  can  find  no  one  who  has 
seen  a  girl  answering  to  the  description  of  Louise.  This 
is  perhaps  to  be  expected,  as  the  streets  in  this  quarter, 
at  three  o'clock,  are  crowded  with  people. 

Maurice  keeps  up  this  inquiry  till  after  nightfall,  then 
returns,  worn  out  and  disgusted  with  himself,  to  the  Rue 
d'Hautville. 

He  is  still,  however,  sure  that  the  girl  must  be  in 
Paris,  and  sends  Microbe  for  Monsieur  Claude  to  ask  for 
additional  watchers  at  the  railway  stations. 

Consequently,  about  nine  o'clock  the  chef  oi  the  Depart- 
ment de  Sdrete  enters  Maurice's  parlor,  grins  at  him, 
and  says  :  "  She  has  slipped  your  fingers,  mon  amateur'' 


204  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  No,"  says  Maurice,  "  not  if  your  men  at  the  railroads 
have  done  their  duty. " 

And  he  tells  Monsieur  Claude  all  that  happened  that 
day. 

"  Oh,  mademoiselle  is  in  Paris,  I've  no  doubt  !  "  mur- 
murs the  old  policeman.  "  But  you  did  your  work  very 
badly,  Monsieur  de  Verney.  You  should  have  watched 
every  point — the  Rue  des  Vignes,  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge, 
the  girl  herself — all  this  day,  no  matter  if  you  did  frighten 
her.  Amateurs  in  police  are  like  amateurs  on  the  stage 
— sometimes  brilliant,  but  lacking  in  the  routine  business 
of  their  art." 

With  this  he  goes  out  to  make  arrangements  for  a 
thorough  search  of  Paris  for  the  missing  Louise,  leaving 
Maurice  wincing  at  his  words. 

Thinking  that  he  may  perhaps  get  some  information 
from  the  German  chemist,  after  a  little  the  chevalier  goes 
to  Mazas,  and  in  that  prison  interviews  the  man  Her- 
mann. 

In  his  cell  this  conspirator  glares  at  him,  and  for  a  time 
refuses  to  answer  any  questions.  Finally  he  says  :  "  If 
you  will  tell  me  one  thing,  Monsieur  Police-spy,  I'll 
answer  you  another.  You  ask  the  reason  of  our  attempt. 
Tell  me  " — here  the  man  trembles  and  tears  come  into 
his  eyes— "  is  my — my  sister  yet  arrested,  and  I'll  give 
you  the  information  on  that  point." 

"  Very  well,"  replies  de  Verney.  "  Louise  has  not  yet 
been  apprehended." 

At  this,  the  scientific  criminal  mutters,  "  Thank  God  !  " 
and  after  a  moment's  consideration  replies  :  "  You  wish 
to  know  the  motive  that  prompted  our  political  action — 
mind  you,  I  do  not  admit  it  was  a  crime." 

"  Call  it  what  you  like,"  says  Maurice.  "What  was 
your  reason  for  it  ?  " 

Then  he  gets  an  answer  that  astounds  him  : 

The  German  philosopher  cries,  "  Philanthropy  !  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  205 

"  Philanthropy  !  "  stammers  de  Verney,  not  sure  he  has 
heard  aright. 

"  Yes,  PHILANTHROPY  !  "  returns  Hermann,  his  eyes 
lighting  up.  "  To  seat  his  son  firmly  on  the  throne  he 
has  built  up  by  blood,  Louis  Napoleon  must  wage  a 
successful  war.  Each  day  the  mutterings  of  the  people 
at  Belleville  and  Montmartre  tell  him  that !  Germany  is 
the  country  he  will  naturally  attack  :  the  increased  gar- 
risons on  the  Rhine  frontier  point  straight  at  us.  His 
son  dead,  his  ambition  dies  also.  He  has  no  heir — and 
perhaps  he'll  let  us  have  peace.  Therefore,  some  fellow- 
philanthropists  and  myself  arranged  for  the  child  a  pain- 
less sleep  that  had  no  dreams  and  no  awaking— that 
was  all  !  Better  one  weeping  empress  than  a  hundred 
thousand  bereft  French  and  German  mothers  !  " 

"  And  you  did  this  for  no  selfish  end  ? "  mutters  Mau- 
rice. 

"  No — I  don't  sell  my  life  for  money  !  I  am  a  phi- 
lanthropist and  a  socialist !  "  cries  the  man  enthusiastic- 
ally. 

"  A  socialist  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  socialist — nihilist — whatever  name  you  wish  ! 
You  aristocrats  don't  know  us  yet ! ''  echoes  the  chemist. 
"  Europe  has  not  yet  been  introduced  to  us  ;  presidents, 
kings,  emperors,  and  czars,  have  not  yet  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  our  acquaintance.  But  we  are  coming — to  destroy 
all  who  insult  the  human  race  by  daring  to  govern 
it!" 

And  as  Maurice .  leaves  the  man,  astonished  at  his 
words,  he  notes  a  wild  light  upon  his  face,  that  seems  to 
him  like  the  joy  of  battle  ;  but  it  is  not — it  is  the  lurid 
glare  of  political  mania. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  de  Verney  did  not  understand 
this  man,  for  Europe  was  not  at  that  time  very  well 
acquainted  with  this  sect  of  philosophical  maniacs,  who 
consider  themselves  so  badly  treated  by  God  that  they 


206  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

avenge  themselves  on  mankind  ;  though,  since  then,  more 
has  been  learned  about  them  by  potentates  and  emperors, 
and  particularly  "he  of  Russia,"  who  has  by  them  been 
taught  to  know  the  sensations  of  a  plump  partridge  in 
the  hunting  season,  and  whose  royal  bones  have  been 
chilled  to  their  imperial  marrow  by  the  eccentricities  of 
their  antics  with  bombs,  dynamite,  and  sudden  death. 

This  interview  impresses  de  Verney  so  much  that 
it  has  a  curious  effect  on  the  fate  of  the  prisoners  Her- 
mann and  Lieber. 

Late  as  it  is,  he  succeeds  in  getting  an  audience  with 
the  Emperor  that  night,  and  makes  his  report  of  the  whole 
affair,  by  no  means  excusing  his  negligence  in  permitting 
the  temporary  escape  of  Louise. 

At  his  astonishing  recital,  his  majesty  stares — then, 
after  a  little,  says  :  "  The  Prince  does  not  guess  that  he 
was  so  near  destruction  from  the  hands  of  one  he  thought 
his  friend  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  sire,"  replies  Maurice  ;  "  and,  if  I  may 
offer  my  advice,  never  let  him  know."  With  this  he 
relates  his  interview  with  Hermann,  and  remarks  that 
the  publicity  of  such  peculiar  attempts  always  incites 
political  cranks  to  others  of  a  similar  nature.  "  If  you 
try  these  men  publicly  for  this  crime,  you  will  have  an 
epidemic  of  attempts  upon  the  life  of  the  Prince  to 
guard  against.  You've  got  these  men  in  your  hands  ; 
you  know  their  guilt ;  you  can  convict  them  whenever 
you  wish.  Keep  them  where  they  can  do  no  harm,  but 
don't  publicly  try  them  !  " 

"  I  imagine  you  are  right,"  mutters  the  Emperor. 
After  a  little  pause  of  thought,  he  continues  :  "  I 
can  hardly  express  my  thanks  for  my  son's  safety  and 
life  to  you.  Colonel  de  Verney  ! "  then  stops  any 
attempt  at  acknowledgment  from  Maurice,  by  saying  : 
"  Good-evening,  my  dear  colonel  !  You  may  expect  your 
commission  to-morrow,  and  the  grand  cross  when  you 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  207 

bring  me  that  would-be  assassin  of  a  child  who  loved  and 
trusted  her  !  " 

So  Maurice  bows  himself  out,  but  never  gains  the 
grand  cross  ;  for,  let  Monsieur  Claude  search  as  much  as 
he  can,  and  Microbe,  Regnier,  and  Jolly  exert  themselves 
to  their  utmost,  no  trace  of  the  flower-girl  of  the  Jardin 
d'Acclimatation  is  ever  seen  again  in  Paris  ! 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A    RUSSIAN    GOVERNESS. 

THREE  weeks  after  this,  the  chef  of  the  Bureau  de 
Surete  enters  Maurice's  rooms  in  the  Rue  d'Hautville, 
tosses  an  envelope  on  the  table,  and,  with  a  smile,  says  : 
"  Your  orders  for  Africa,  colonel  !  " 

"  My  orders  for  where  ? "  cries  de  Verney,  jumping 
up. 

"  For  Algeria  ;  where  your  regiment,  I  believe,  is 
stationed." 

To  this  the  chevalier  does  not,  for  a  moment,  reply. 
He  has  broken  the  seal  of  the  packet,  and  is  mastering 
its  contents. 

"  You  are  right  !  "  he  returns,  a  minute  later  ;  "  but  I — 
I  cannot  understand  it." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  sneers  Monsieur  Claude.  "  The 
Emperor  imagines  that  Louise  was  too  beautiful  and  you 
too  young." 

"  What  proof  has  he  of  this  lie  ?  "  cries  Maurice,  the 
blush  of  outraged  manhood  on  his  cheeks. 

"  Plenty  ! " 

"  Plenty  ?     Impossible  !  " 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear  de  Verney,"  murmurs  the  old 
chef.  "  You  wrote  to  several  of  your  relatives,  asking 
them  to  recommend  a  lady  for  the  position  of  governess 
in  the  family  of  General  Lapuschkin." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  answers  Maurice.    "  What  of  that  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  what  a  farceur  you  are  !  You  should  go  on  the 
stage  at  the  Palais  Royal !  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  209 

"  What  of  that?  "  says  de  Verney  between  his  teeth,  in 
a  tone  that  compels  an  answer. 

"Well,  Mademoiselle  Louise  escaped  from  Paris, 
under  a  passport,  as  the  general's  governess.  She  deliv- 
ered a  note,  that  he  had  written  to  you,  as  her  recom- 
mendation, and  stated  you  sent  her  to  him  !  Our  agent  in 
Berlin  discovered  that.  She  is  now  in  St.  Petersburg, 
and,  I  believe,  very  much  loved  and  respected  by  the 
general  and  his  little  daughter." 

At  this,  Claude  gets  an  answer  he  does  not  expect ;  for 
Maurice  cries  out  suddenly  :  "  That  angel  to  be  taught 
by  that  devil  !  Great  heavens  !  " 

A  moment  after,  he  says,  more  calmly  :  "  I  have  not  the 
time  to  right  myself  with  the  Emperor  to-day.  I  must 
first  protect  General  Lapuschkin  and  his  daughter  ;  "  and 
bows  out  Monsieur  Claude,  astonished. 

De  Verney  immediately  applies  for  leave,  for  his  first 
thought  is  to  go  to  Russia  in  person.  This  is  not  only 
sternly  refused  him,  but  he  is  ordered  to  depart  for  his 
regiment  in  Africa  immediately.  The  tone  of  these 
instructions  is  such  that  it  indicates,  if  his  commission 
as  colonel  had  not  been  approved  and  delivered,  so  that 
it  could  not  be  canceled  without  court-martial,  he  would 
never  command  a  regiment. 

On  receiving  this,  Maurice  bites  his  lips  with  rage, 
and  for  a  moment  would  resign  from  the  army  ;  but  an 
hour's  consideration  banishes  this  from  his  mind.  He  is 
perfectly  aware  that  in  a  year  or  two  France  must  be 
involved  in  some  great  war ;  and,  though  he  would  fight 
for  his  country  as  a  volunteer  if  necessary,  prefers,  if 
possible,  to  do  so  as  the  colonel  of  a  dashing  cavalry 
regiment. 

Stung  by  the  injustice  with  which  he  has  been  treated, 

he   attempts   no  effort   at  explanation  to  the  Emperor, 

but  makes  all  his  preparations  to  leave  Paris  that  night ; 

among  others,  writing  a  long  letter  to  General  Lapusch- 

14 


210  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

kin,  telling  him  all  the  occurrences  leading  to  Louise's 
presenting  the  letter  the  Russian  had  written  to  him, 
and  using  his  name  to  obtain  admission  to  the  general's 
service,  in  order  to  escape  from  France.  This  he  takes 
to  the  post-office  and  registers  in  person,  so  as  to  be 
sure  of  its  delivery. 

Thus  warned,  the  general's  family  will  be  safe  ;  for  no 
sane  man  could  keep  Louise  Lieber  as  his  daughter's 
instructress  after  reading  the  letter  Maurice  had  written. 

That  night,  attended  by  Fran9ois,  Maurice  de  Verney 
goes  to  the  Boulevard  Mazas,  to  the  great  station  of 
the  Paris,  Marseilles,  and  Lyons  Railway,  en  route  for 
Algeria. 

The  train  is  within  five  minutes  of  starting,  when 
young  Microbe  breaks  through  the  crowd  to  bid  the 
chevalier  farewell.  His  going  has  been  so  sudden  that 
few  of  his  fashionable  friends  have  learned  of  his  depart- 
ure ;  none,  anyway,  are  here  to  bid  him  good-by,  and 
wish  him  safe  return  from  the  hot,  pestilential  climate  to 
which  he  goes. 

Perhaps  his  fall  from  imperial  favor  may  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  this  ;  for  such  rumors  soon  find  the 
public  ear,  and  their  breath  blows  away  popularity.  At 
least,  this  is  the  way  de  Verney  is  reasoning,  as  Microbe 
comes  up  to  him  and  seizes  his  hand  ;  for  he  says  :  "  My 
poor  Ravel,  you  are  the  only  one  !  "  then  mutters  : 
"  And  they  have  not  promoted  you  for  all  you  did  in 
that  affair  ?  " 

"  No,"  returns  the  young  officer.  "  Monsieur  Claude 
seems  to  hate  me.  But  they  daren't  turn  me  off  the  force 
till  they  try  those  two  in  there  ;  "  and  he  gives  a  French 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  and  a  Quartier  Latin  wink  toward 
the  great  prison  Mazas,  that  stands  nearly  opposite  the 
railroad  depot,  where  Hermann  and  Lieber  are  both 
fretting  away  their  lives  in  its  hot  and  silent  cells. 

"  Then  you've  got  nothing  for  your  services  ? "  remarks 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  211 

the  chevalier,  extending  a  parting  hand  ;  for  the  train  is 
now  about  starting,  and  they  have  walked  to  de  Verney's 
compartment,  where  Francois,  with  his  master's  valise 
and  a  couple  of  cavalry  sabers,  has  preceded  them. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  ! "  cries  Microbe  ;  "  I've  got  the 
friendship  of  a  great  man — one  who,  if  they'd  let  him, 
would  be  a  worthy  successor  to  Vidocq  !  " 

At  this  extraordinary  compliment,  de  Verney  winces  ; 
though,  knowing  it  is  well  meant,  and  that  this  little 
detective  regards  that  ex-galley-slave,  spy,  and  villain  as 
one  of  the  greatest  names  in  French  history,  he  mutters  : 
"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  No,  not  all,"  whispers  Microbe.  "  I've  got  your 
present — the  Mabille  suit,  in  which,  last  Sunday,  I  danced 
the  grand  ecart  to  shrieks  of  applause  ;  and  this  ring — 
the  one  you  gave  me,  the  one  by  which  I'll  never  forget 
you,  the  one  by  which  you  can  have  my  heart's  blood 
when  you  want  it,  the  one  by  which  I'll  chance  handcuffs 
and  death  to  do  your  bidding  ;  for  I  love  you  !  " 

Here  the  enthusiastic  little  fellow  embraces  de  Verney, 
and  kisses  him,  after  the  manner  of  his  country,  upon 
both  cheeks. 

As  he  does  so,  two  sad  drops  fall  upon  Maurice's 
face.  He  knows  they  come  from  one  true  heart  that 
loves  him  ;  and,  forgetting  rank  and  station,  he  hugs  this 
little  thief-taker  in  his  arms  :  for  the  bravest  are  also  the 
tenderest. 

Thus  the  train  takes  him  away. 

Gazing  back,  he  sees  tears  glistening  on  Microbe's 
face,  who  is  waving  the  ruby  ring  at  him,  flashing  red  in 
the  blaze  of  the  station  lamps — red  as  the  signal  of 
danger,  red  as  the  signal  of  death  and  despair  when  he 
shall  see  that  ruby  ring  again.  But  with  it  shall  come  to 
him  hope  that  had  left  him,  and  a  fighting  chance  for 
all  that  makes  the  good  of  life  ;  safety  for  the  being  he 
loves,  and  love  for  himself,  her  savior.  That's  what 


212  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

that  ruby  ring  will  mean  when  next  he  sees  its  red  light 
gleam. 

The  letter  Maurice  de  Verney  wrote  to  General 
Lapuschkin  was  not  delivered  in  St.  Petersburg,  but 
followed  that  Russian  nobleman  to  his  estates  in  Tula, 
south  of  Moscow,  where  he  had  somewhat  suddenly 
gone,  lured  by  the  first  fine  weather  of  spring.  But 
winter  seems  always  loath  to  leave  Russia  ;  and,  after  his 
arrival,  there  came  a  great  cold  storm,  that  fell  upon  and 
destroyed  this  old  gentleman,  who,  living  in  France  for 
several  years,  had  become  accustomed  to  its  milder 
climate. 

So,  when  this  letter  came,  it  was  into  a  house  of 
mourning.  The  little  Ora,  her  governess,  Mademoiselle 
Marguerite  de  Brian,  and  the  servants  were  all  in  black 
for  the  departed  veteran  ;  and  acting  as  executor  of  the 
estates,  and  guardian  of  the  person  of  Ora,  was  her  uncle, 
the  Prince  Sergius  Platoff. 

This  gentleman,  a  bon-vtvant,  spendthrift,  and  gamester, 
had  paid  but  little  attention  to  the  lady  instructing  Ora 
up  to  this  time.  He  read  the  letter  carefully  over  sev- 
eral times,  then  placed  it  in  his  pocketbook  among  his 
valuable  papers,  and  strolled  out  upon  the  lawn  in  front 
of  the  large  Russian  country  house,  where  Mademoiselle 
de  Brian  and  her  charge  were  standing  ;  for  the  winter, 
after  having  slain  the  poor  old  general,  had  again 
departed,  leaving  the  sun  shining  brightly,  and  spring 
again  upon  the  land. 

After  a  few  minutes'  casual  conversation  with  the 
young  lady,  whom  he  now  condescends  to  notice  is  very 
beautiful,  Sergius  Platoff  remarks,  "  My  dear  mademoi- 
selle, I've  just  received  a  letter  about  you  from  France." 

The  girl  looks  at  him  suddenly,  perhaps  with  a  little 
more  of  the  lily  on  her  cheeks  than  she  had  before  he 
spoke  ;  then  mutters,  "  From  whom  ?  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  213 

"  From  an  old  friend  of  yours,  Maurice  de  Verney  !  " 

"Ah  !  from  Monsieur  Maurice,"  cries  little  Ora,  who, 
though  grieving  for  her  father  bitterly,  has  only  the 
sadness  of  a  child,  which  is  easily  put  away  by  present 
excitement.  "  He  is  the  gentleman  to  whom  I  showed 
the  *  bear's  nest '  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  nearly  two 
months  ago.  In  April,  just  before  you  came  to  us,  dear 
Mademoiselle  Marguerite — you  remember  when  he  sent 
you  to  us — just  before  we  left  Paris." 

But  Mademoiselle  Marguerite  does  not  answer  the 
child.  She  is  gazing  at  her  guardian,  who  in  a  jovial,  open- 
hearted  way  is  saying,  "  How  pleasant  it  is  to  know  one 
is  not  forgotten,  Mademoiselle  Louise  ! — I  beg  your  par- 
don, Marguerite — and,  I  assure  you,  Monsieur  de  Verney 
has  not  forgotten  you." 

"  I — I  presume  you  will  not  much  longer  require  my 
services,  now — the  count  is  dead  ?  "  says  the  governess, 
slowly  and  significantly. 

"  Oh  !  by  no  means  ;  I  particularly  wish  you  to  stay 
here,"  laughs  the  prince.  "  Now  that  I  have  such  a  good 
character  of  you  from  de  Verney,  I  particularly  wish  you 
to  instruct  my  niece.  But,  ma  petite,  you  had  better 
drop  in  and  see  me  in  my  library  to-morrow  morning  !  " 
For  this  gentleman  has  in  the  last  week  or  two  got  in  the 
habit  of  speaking  of  the  property  of  little  Ora  almost  as 
his  own,  and  now  a  most  extraordinary  idea  for  keeping 
continued  possession  of  all  this  helpless  child's  vast  prop- 
erty and  wealth  has  suddenly  formed  itself  in  his  most 
subtle  brain.  Not  that  this  came  in  a  moment  to  him  in 
every  cunning  detail,  for  these  last  were  the  product  of 
the  thought  of  almost  a  cycle  of  Le  Prince  Sergius  Platoff  s 
life  ;  but  still,  as  he  on  that  spring  day  gazed  at  the 
governess  of  his  little  ward,  and  knew  she  was  a  socialist, 
the  germ  of  that  extraordinary  plot  was  planted  in  his 
mind  and  took  root  to  bud  and  blossom  into  so  fantas- 
tic a  piece  of  deviltry  that  old  Beelzebub  in  Hades  chuck- 


214  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

led  and  laughed  to  his  imps,  "  Ha  !  ha  !  Here's  a  scholar 
that  surpasses  his  master !  Room  near  the  fire  for 
another  Russian  boyard ' !  " 

Stunned  as  she  is  by  the  news  from  France — for  Mar- 
guerite de  Brian  understands  that  Prince  Sergius  Platoff 
knows  she  is  Louise  Lieber — that  young  lady  has  not 
forgotten  the  chance  remark  of  her  beautiful  charge  about 
the  "  bear's  nest "  she  had  shown  Monsieur  de  Verney  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  a  few  minutes  after  obtains 
from  the  little  girl  the  account  of  how  she  had  disclosed 
to  the  man,  she  now  knows  was  on  the  track  of  her  con- 
spiracy, the  hiding-place  of  the  Prince  Imperial.  She 
gnashes  her  teeth  over  this  revelation  ;  and  the  passive 
dislike  that  the  wicked  generally  have  for  the  good — 
which  had  been  her  feeling  up  to  this  time  for  her  pupil — 
chants  into  an  active  personal  hate,  that  would  be  awful 
between  adversaries,  but  is  horrible,  cowardly,  and 
cruel  when  held  by  one  in  authority  over  a  helpless 
child  that  must  look  to  her  for  the  teachings  that  will 
lead  to  the  future  happiness  or  misery  of  her  life. 

She  glares  at  her  beautiful  charge,  then  goes  silently 
into  the  house  and  to  her  room.  There  she  thinks  and 
thinks. 

If  she  can  keep  her  position  here,  far  away  from  inter- 
fering friends  and  officious  relatives,  what  an  immensity 
of  revenge  this  child,  who  has  been  an  innocent  agent  in  her 
unhappiness  and  despair,  offers  to  her!  Every  night  of  her 
life  since  his  arrest  this  curious  young  woman  has  wet  her 
pillow  with  tears  for  her  absent  husband,  from  whom  the 
walls  of  the  Mazas  prison  forever  separate  and  divide  her  ; 
for  the  brawny  muscle  and  bearish  strength  of  the  gigan- 
tic Lieber  had  won  Louise's  heart.  She  loved  her  husband 
after  the  manner  that  tigresses  love,  and  even  they  will 
avenge  the  destruction  and  taking  off  of  their  mates.  It 
is  perhaps  this  physical  feeling  that  dominates  her  mind 
as  she  takes  down  from  the  wall  of  her  room  a  long, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  215 

lithe,  stinging  riding-whip,  looks  caressingly  upon  it,  and 
switches  it  through  the  air — then  cries,  "  Will  not  I  ?  Will 
not  I?  How  this  little  creature  who  has  stung  me  shall 
be  stung  by  this  !  "  and  with  this  determines  at  the  first 
disobedience  or  failure  in  her  tasks,  to  make  a  cruel 
reckoning  with  the  victim  that  is  now  within  her  hand. 

She  has  almost  immediate  opportunity  for  this  revenge  ; 
but  the  very  circumstances  that  give  rise  to  it  save  the 
beautiful  child  from  this  humiliation  forever. 

The  next  morning,  as  Mademoiselle  de  Brian,  the  gov- 
erness, enters  the  prince's  study,  she  sees  that  genial  gen- 
tleman— who  has  not  as  yet  been  able  to  remember  that  a 
few  years  before  the  Czar  abolished  serfdom — give  Vassi- 
lissa,  the  beloved  foster-sister  of  her  charge,  a  couple  of 
sounding  cuffs  upon  the  ear,  the  girl  having  accidentally 
knocked  down  and  broken  a  vase  in  the  apartment. 

Though  Vassilissa  is  sixteen,  and  her  sturdy  peasant 
face  reddens  beneath  the  slaps,  and  tears  gather  in  her 
eyes,  she  makes  no  resistance  ;  the  blood  of  her  ances- 
tors has  been  subdued  and  made  patient  before  it  entered 
her  veins  ;  she  only  looks  doggedly  at  her  master. 

Enraged  perhaps  by  her  manner,  the  prince's  hand 
is  raised  again  ;  but,  before  it  falls,  there  is  a  *whisk  of 
short  skirts,  and  Ora,  who  has  been  playing  outside,  has 
flown  through  the  open  French  window  and  stands 
between  the  smiter  and  the  smitten. 

She  cries,  "  Don't  you  dare  to  strike  my  foster-sister 
again  !  I  love  her,  do  you  hear  ?  you  cruel  old  man  !  I 
love  her!"  and .  confronts  with  brave,  indignant  eyes 
her  uncle,  who  winces  at  the  "  old  man  "  in  the  speech 
more  than  anything  else. 

'*  Perhaps,  my  dear,  you  do  not  know  that  Vassilissa 
has  broken  one  of  my  vases  ;  she  is  slovenly  and  careless, 
and  perhaps  owes  to  your  foolish  spoiling  the  punishment 
she  received,"  mutters  the  prince,  turning  an  evil  eye 
upon  the  child,  who  still  confronts  him. 


2l6  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

The  answer  he  gets  enrages  him  still  more.  "  One  oiyour 
vases  ! "  screams  the  little  countess  ;  "  one  of  my  vases  ! — 
Vassilissa,  you  can  break  the  other  one  if  you  wish  !  They 
are  all  mine  ;  everything  is  mine  when  I  grow  up  ;  you 
are  free  to  smash  it ;  you  are  no  longer  a  slave.  Papa, 
my  dear,  dead  papa,  told  me  that  every  one  in  Russia  was 
free — free  to  do  as  they  pleased.  FREE  !  Break  that 
vase  !  I  order  you  to  !  Vassilissa,  break  it  before  my 
naughty  uncle's  eyes  !  What !  you  won't  ?  Then  I  will !  " 
— SMASH  !  and  the  little  countess  has  dashed  the  other 
vase  into  pieces  right  before  Sergius  PlatofFs  astonished 
eyes,  and  flashed  out  of  the  room  in  an  agony  of  tears. 

The  prince  and  the  governess  turn  and  gaze  at  each 
other — they  are  alone  now,  for  Vassilissa  had  pru- 
dently got  out  of  the  apartment  even  before  her  little 
mistress. 

The  prince  looks  at  the  couple  of  broken  Dresden 
vases,  utters  three  awful  Russian  curses,  then  says  :  "  A 
few  hundred  rubles  gone  to  the  devil."  A  moment  after 
he  continues,  with  pointed  politeness,  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Mademoiselle  de  Brian,  for  losing  my  temper,  but  I 
imagine  you  must  have  heard  an  oath  before.  All  Alsa- 
cians  curse — especially  athletes.  I've  heard  them  my- 
self in  the  Gymnasia  of  Strasbourg,  often  !  " 

The  girl  reddens  at  this,  then  grows  pale — but  a  mo- 
ment after  walks  straight  up  to  him  and  whispers : 
"  You  know  my  secret — don't  taunt  me  with  it.  Am  I 
to  stay  here,  or  shall  I  go  ?  " 

The  prince  looks  her  over,  laughs  a  little,  then  says  : 
«  Stay ! " 

"  Am  I  to  have  full  control  of  that " 

"  That  little  devil  !  Yes  !  "  cries  Sergius,  taking 
the  words  out  of  her  mouth  ;  "  if  you  do  my  will.  Ora 
is  not  a  young  lady  yet.  She  has  absurd  ideas  as  to 
her  own  freedom  from  control ;  also,  more  absurd  ones 
about  liberty  in  Russia,  that  may  some  day  get  her  into 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  217 

trouble.  You  have  not  brought  her  up  very  well  in  the 
two  months  she  has  been  under  your  charge,  my  dear 
Mademoiselle  de  Brian  ;  but  perhaps  her  father  was  a 
check  on  your  corrections.  You  have  my  authority — 
whip  the  little  countess  till  she  fears  you  !  " 

Mademoiselle  de  Brian  looks  at  the  prince,  and  knows 
he  hates  the  child  as  she  does  ;  but,  though  there  is  a 
great  longing  in  her  mind  for  instant  revenge,  and  a  flush 
of  cruelty  comes  over  her  face  at  the  thought  that  she 
might  now  revel  in  this  beautiful  girl's  terror,  cries, 
and  humiliation,  she  checks  it  and  astonishes  Sergius,  for 
she  says  :  "  I  have  a  better  plan  with  the  child.  I  will 
not  make  her  fear  me  !  " 

"  No  ?  " 

"  But  love  me  !  love  me  and — TRUST  me  !  " 

"Le&ablei" 

"  Then  I  can  make  her  the  woman  /  wish  her  to 
become  !  "  As  she  says  this,  the  governess's  eyes  become 
lurid. 

Noting  their  baneful  gleam,  Sergius  Platoff  thinks  he 
understands  her,  and  cries,  "  All  right !  Have  your  own 
way,  my  ex-conspirator.  Educate  the  girl,  but  educate 

her  liberally  !  LIBERALLY  !  and  when  she  grows  up ." 

Here  he  laughs  a  little  nasty  laugh,  which  is  echoed  by 
Mademoiselle  de  Brian. 

Then,  from  that  day  on,  this  woman  strives  by  every 
feminine  art  to  win  the  love  and  trust  of  Ora  Lapuschkin; 
and,  giving  her  every  accomplishment  to  make  her  coming 
fate  more  bitter,  implants  in  the  heart  of  this  noble  child 
those  doctrines  of  universal  freedom,  broad  and  elevated 
thought,  love  for  her  fellows,  and  devotion  to  liberty 
that  in  other  lands  the  world  over  bring  the  honor  of 
our  fellow-men,  the  high  esteem  of  our  neighbors,  the 
love  of  our  kindred,  and  the  happiness  inrl 
our  own  lives  ;  but  in  Russia  lead  down 
ture,  Siberia,  and  death  by  the  executiorier5* 


2l8  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

So  this  education  goes  on,  the  child  becoming  a  greater 
worshiper  at  the  shrine  of  freedom  ;  when,  some  two 
years  afterward,  her  cousin  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  visit- 
ing Tula  to  see  his  fiancee — for,  Ora's  father  dying, 
the  marriage  contract  had  not  been  canceled — looks  at 
her  governess  and  recognizes  the  flower-girl  he  had  seen 
in  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation  in  Paris. 

Detained  in  that  capital  some  months  after  his  deb-tit  in 
the  salle  Les  Arenes  by  his  broken  shoulder,  some  rumors 
of  the  exploits  of  Mademoiselle  Louise  have  come  to  his 
ears. 

He  knows  pretty  well  what  they  indicate  in  regard 
to  this  young  lady,  for  Monsieur  Dimitri  has  grown 
quite  cunning  in  police  matters  lately,  having  been 
appointed  to  a  junior  command  in  the  third  section, 
and  even  now  being  on  his  return  from  the  Cau- 
casus, where  he  has  distinguished  himself  by  police 
atrocities  upon  a  village  commune  who  forgot  to  pay 
their  taxes. 

In  his  sleepy,  eastern  way,  this  young  man  notes  the 
peculiar  style  of  instruction  his  little  cousin  is  receiving, 
and  the  increasing  grace  and  beauties  of  the  child, 
who  each  day  grows  more  lovely  as  she  grows  more 
womanly  ;  and,  one  day  he  and  Sergius  Platoff  being 
alone  together  after  dinner,  and  the  wine  making 
them  outspoken,  Dimitri  remarks  :  "  That  governess  you 
have  for  Ora  '11  teach  the  child  things  that  may  bring 
her  into  the  clutches  of  the  police  when  she  grows 
older." 

"  Pooh  !  "  cries  the  Prince  Platoff,  "  mademoiselle 
is  only  giving  my  little  ward  a  liberal  education  !  " 

"  Ha,  ha  !  a  liberal  education  !  "  mutters  Dimitri, 
who  knows  that,  in  case  of  harm  coming  to  Ora,  he  will 
be  co-heir  with  Platoff.  Then  a  gleam  of  understanding 
comes  into  his  small,  cunning  Tartar  eyes,  and  these 
catching  an  answering  leer  in  those  of  Sergius,  they  wink 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  2IQ 

at  each  other  and  laugh  ;  for  each  of  these  two  infernal 
scoundrels  knows  he  is  entitled  to  half  of  the  big  financial 
bone  that  Ora's  vast  estates  will  make  ;  but  does  not 
know  that  the  villain  grinning  at  him  has  determined  to 
have — THE  WHOLE  OF  IT  ! 


BOOK    III. 

THE  WEB  OF  THE  RUSSIAN 
SECRET  POLICE. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

DON'T    YOU    REMEMBER    ME  ? 

THUS  things  ran  along  at  Tula  for  several  years,  until 
Ora  had  grown  almost  to  womanhood;  Mademoiselle  de 
Brian  remaining  at  the  great  country  house,  chiefly 
engaged  in  the  education  of  her  charge  ;  and  Sergius 
Platoff  making  his  home,  the  most  of  this  time,  in  St. 
Petersburg,  giving  out  that  the  management  of  his  ward's 
property  compelled  his  residence  at  the  capital ;  finding 
this  a  convenient  place  to  squander  the  fortune  of  the 
orphan  heiress  in  liaisons  with  the  French  and  German 
actresses  of  the  Michael  Theater,  and  the  figurantes,  and 
ballet  girls,  who  flourished  each  winter  when  Italian  opera 
was  given  in  the  Bolskoi  Theater  that  has  witnessed  so 
many  triumphs  for  the  song  birds  of  this  earth.  These 
ladies  of  the  ballet  cost  the  prince  a  great  deal  of  Ora's 
money  ;  but  the  terrific  play  at  cards,  and  dicing  of  the 
Imperial  Yacht  Club,  famous  for  its  excess  in  that  line, 
where  young  Demidoff  lost  1,800,000  roubles  in  a  single 
night,  ran  away  with  more  of  it. 

Each  day  that  his  ward  was  growing  nearer  an  age 
when  she  could  demand  a  reckoning,  increased  Sergius's 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  221 

anxiety  to  place  all  danger  of  such  a  thing  behind  him, 
by  some  coup  that  would  make  all  her  property  his  for- 
ever ;  for  not  only  the  enormous  revenues  of  little  Ora's 
vast  estates  had  been  squandered,  but  the  prince  was 
taking  a  bite,  wherever  possible,  out  of  the  orphan's  capi- 
tal. This  desire  was  not  made  less  strong  by  the  thought 
that  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  in  his  silent,  Tartar  way,  was 
waiting  eagerly  for  the  child  to  arrive  at  such  an  age  that 
he  could  claim  a  fulfillment  of  his  marriage  contract,  and, 
as  Ora's  husband,  demand  a  reckoning  of  the  moneys 
that  had  accumulated  during  her  minority,  from  her 
guardian. 

Prince  Menchikoff,  though  not  taking  part  in  the 
Turkish  war,  was  frequently  away  from  St.  Petersburg, 
engaged  permanently  with  the  Third  Section,  or  secret 
police,  in  suppressing  the  socialist  propaganda  that  was 
gradually  eating  its  way  into  almost  all  classes  of  Russian 
life,  and  destined  shortly  to  change  from  a  peaceful,  almost 
religious,  movement,  to  that  political  volcano  which,  in 
its  eruption,  made  Russia  a  social  pandemonium. 

On  this  sea  of  political  passion  Prince  Sergius  Platoff, 
from  his  petits  soupers  with  ballerine  and  the  gaming- 
tables of  the  Imperial  Yacht  Club,  looked  rather  glee- 
fully ;  for,  to  his  cunning  mind,  it  suggested  the  only 
hope  for  his  financial  salvation.  True,  if  the  worst 
came,  he  might  bribe  the  judges  to  decide  in  his  favor — 
the  usual  method  by  which  the  eyes  of  blind  justice 
are  opened  to  the  truth  in  Russia  ;  but  then  Dimitri 
might  bribe  also — and,  perchance,  awful  to  think  of — 
higher  ! 

So  he  still  lived  his  spendthrift  life  ;  and,  becoming 
closely  pressed  for  money,  one  night  after  fearful  losses 
at  play,  the  prince  was  compelled  to  obtain  a  loan  at 
usurious  interest  from  a  Hebrew  banker,  one  Isaacavitch 
Zamaroff,  who,  from  ignoble  swindlings  of  the  poor,  had 
become  opulent  enough  to  prey  upon  the  rich. 


222  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

This  financier  had  lately  made  large  sums  of  money,  in 
conjunction  with  an  American  speculator,  J.  Madison 
Skinner,  in  building,  for  the  Russian  Government,  rail- 
roads in  Bessarabia,  to  be  used  in  the  military  operations 
of  the  Turkish  war,  then  at  its  height. 

This  J.  Madison  Skinner  was  now  prudently  closing  up 
his  contracts  with  the  Imperial  Government,  and  settling 
his  accounts  with  Zamaroff,  preparatory  to  leaving  the 
country,  his  keen  Yankee  eye  foreseeing  a  political 
upheaval  ahead  ;  his  keen  Yankee  motto  being,  "  When 
there's  political  danger,  there's  financial  danger." 

This  gentleman  was  the  father  of  that  practical  young 
lady,  Miss  Sallie,  who  had  noticed  the  base-ball  finger  on 
the  hand  of  the  masked  wrestler.  She  had  been  married 
to  a  Chicago  gentleman  shortly  after  her  Paris  trip,  and 
now,  being  divorced,  was  keeping  house  for  her  father 
in  the  big  palace  on  the  Frontanka  Canal,  belonging  to 
Ora  Lapuschkin,  which  they  rented  from  Prince  Platoff  ; 
and,  under  the  name  of  Mrs.  S.  Wetmore  Johnston,  was 
making  a  great  splurge  in  Russian  society,  with  her 
diamonds,  money,  American  chic,  and  grand  entertain- 
ments. 

During  the  year  1877,  the  loans  that  Prince  Platoff 
obtained  from  Zamaroff  grew  gradually  larger  ;  until, 
with  accumulated  and  usurious  interest,  they  reached  a 
great  sum,  Zamaroff  at  that  time  being  an  accommo- 
dating creditor  for  two  reasons  :  first,  he  fondly  hoped, 
by  means  of  the  prince,  to  obtain  a  footing  in  the  court 
society  in  which  Platoff's  family  and  connections  made 
him  prominent — a  thing  which  Zamaroff  had  as  much 
chance  of  achieving  as  of  going  to  heaven  ;  for  no  clique 
in  the  world  is  more  autocratic  in  its  exclusiveness  than 
the  boyard  set  of  Russia  ;  and  Herr  Zamaroff's  manners 
and  demeanor  were  better  suited  to  a  pig-sty  than  a  pal- 
ace ;  second,  the  usurer  imagined  he  had  good  security, 
being  very  cunning  and  not  guessing  that  his  customer, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  223 

under  his  bluff,  off-hand  manner,  carried  the  finesse  du 
diable  himself. 

This  peculiar  ability  of  his  debtor  came  home  to 
Herr  Zamaroff  sudden  as  a  thunderclap,  but  bright  as  a 
flash  of  lightning,  one  awful  afternoon  in  the  month  of 
January,  1878 — bringing  with  it  despair  to  the  trusting 
Isaacavitch. 

It  was  in  this  manner  :  Platoff  had  sent  for  him  to 
come  to  his  apartments  on  the  Baseinaia  Oulitza,  after 
the  haughty  manner  of  a  boyard,  and  Zamaroff  was  leav- 
ing his  offices,  which  he  held  in  conjunction  with  Skinner, 
on  the  Bolchoi  Prospect,  to  obey. 

"  Hello  !  where  are  you  bolting  ? "  asks  the  Amer- 
ican. 

"  To  his  high  nobility's,  the  Prince  Sergius  Platoff's," 
returns  Zamaroff,  with  a  squirm  of  joy  ;  for  he  thinks 
that  this  sudden  summons  may  mean  repayment ;  as  he 
has  spoken  to  his  debtor  on  the  subject  several  times 
lately. 

"  Oh,  that  beat  !  Wants  to  borrow  more  money  from 
you,  I  reckon,"  says  Skinner,  who  has  a  half-way  idea  of 
the  relation  his  late  partner  bears  to  Platoff.  "Why 
don't  you  tell  him  to  come  down  to  your  office,  if  he 
wants  to  talk  business? — not  go  running  after  him.  You've 
no  spunk  !  " 

"  No — but  I've  interest — good  interest,  from  the 
prince  !  "  murmurs  Zamaroff. 

"  And  how  about  the  principal, — eh  ? "  laughs  the 
American 

"  Oh  !  I've  got  good  security.  She's  very  ill — she'll 
die  soon  !  "  and  with  this  astonishing  remark  the  Hebrew 
slips  from  the  office  and  goes  cringing  down  stairs,  where 
he  gets  into  a  sleigh  and  is  driven  across  the  river,  to  the 
rooms  of  his  princely  debtor. 

The  American  looks  after  him,  gives  a  low  whistle, 
then  meditates  :  "  No  wonder  Russian  business  men  are 


224  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

despised  !  That  fellow  squirms  like  a  cur  to  a  prince. 
I  wonder  how  much  he's  lent  his  nabob  ? — Anyway,  I'm 
glad  the  road's  finished,  and  I've  finished  with  Isaacavitch 
Zamaroff ;  though  no  one  under  heaven  could  have  beat 
our  Slavonian  sub-contractors  with  their  own  weapons — 
lying  and  chicanery — like  he.  Bet  Issy's  got  good  security 
— trust  Issy  for  that.  Darned  if  he  can't  cheat  anybody 
but  a  Yankee  !  " 

In  this  case  Skinner  makes  a  mistake.  Zamaroff, 
ushered  into  Platoff's  apartments,  is  kept  waiting  in  his 
study  for  some  little  time,  before  the  owner  comes  to  him; 
he  occupies  his  time  in  gazing  at  a  photograph  which  hangs 
conspicuously  in  the  room.  It  is  that  of  a  young  girl 
about  eighteen,  apparently  in  the  last  stages  of  consump- 
tion. Over  this  the  eyes  of  the  financier  seem  to  gloat. 

Upon  this  scene  the  prince  enters  briskly,  his  eyes 
giving  a  curious  twinkle  as  he  notes  the  occupation  of  the 
usurer. 

"  Hello,  Zamaroff !  "  he  says  briskly.  "  I  sent  for  you 
for  another  favor,  old  man.  Just  sign  for  me  a  check  for 
two  hundred  thousand  roubles  !  " 

"The  amount  is  very  large,  your  high  nobility," 
mutters  the  other,  after  a  pause  of  disappointment.  "  I 
had  expected  you  to  reduce  your  liabilities  to  me,  not 
increase  them,  to-day ; "  though  even  as  he  makes  this 
speech  he  gives  a  squirm  of  humility. 

"  Pshaw  !  isn't  your  security  good  enough  ?  I  noticed 
you  were  examining  it  as  I  came  in  !  "  returns  Platoff, 
with  a  grin,  that,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  can't  keep  from 
being  a  sneer. 

"  Yes,  she  must  be  nearly  dead  now  !  Your  niece 
cannot  live  long  when  she  is  like  that !  "  mutters  Zam- 
aroff, gazing  at  the  picture.  "  Your  highness  will  give 
the  same  security  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ! — and  as  you  say,  you  won't  have  long  to 
wait  for  your  money.  You  know  I  am  heir  to  half  of 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  225 

Ora's  estates  ! — See,  I've  had  the  note  drawn  up  all  ready 
for  you  ;  "  and  Platoff  points  to  his  open  escritoire. 

"  To  be  sure  !  I  have  examined  the  will  very  care- 
fully," returns  the  Hebrew  ;  and,  with  a  little  sigh,  and 
drawing  a  check  from  his  pocket-book,  sits  down  to  fill 
it  up,  in  the  midst  of  this  pausing  to  examine  carefully 
the  prince's  note.  "  Yes,  the  interest  and  security  is  the 
same  ;  and  your  ward " 

"  Is  no  better  !  "  murmurs  Sergius.  Then  he  says  sud- 
denly: "  Quick  !  Make  out  the  check  !  What  the  devil 
are  you  waiting  for?  " 

This  being  done,  and  the  check  passed  to  his  hands,  he 
says,  "  Excuse  me  for  a  moment  ; "  steps  out  of  the 
room,  sends  it  by  a  messenger  to  his  bank,  that  it  may  be 
turned  into  his  account  ;  then,  coming  back,  talks  on 
indifferent  subjects  to  Zamaroff,  who  is  complaining  how 
certain  gilded  youth  of  the  court  circle  have  treated  him, 
especially  one  Baron  von  Hulne,  of  the  Guards,  about 
whom  he  runs  on  in  something  of  this  style  : 

"  Curse  him!  the  creature  has  squandered  all  his  money 
at  play ;  hasn't  a  copeck,  and  is  in  debt  for  his  uniforms 
to  his  tailor  Mathias  Zobeck  ;  for  he  told  me  so.  Well,  as  I 
came  here,  your  high  nobility,  I  passed  on  the  Nevskoi 
that  young  beggar  driving  in  his  private  sleigh,  also  owed 
for,  and  I  bowed  to  him — I,  Isaacavitch  Zamaroff,  four 
times  millionaire,  bowed  humbly  to  him,  very  humbly; 
and  he — may  his  own  saint  spit  upon  him! — grinned  and 
ordered  his  lackey  to  return  my  salute,  which  the  son  of  a 
serf  did,  with  a  howl  of  laughter  and  waving  of  his  cap  !  " 

"  Yes,"  replies  Platoff,  lazily  laughing ;  "  that  Von 
Hulne  is  an  uppish  beast  !  "  Then  he  goes  on  suddenly — 
for  he  judges  that  by  this  time  the  money  has  been  trans- 
ferred from  Zamaroff 's  account  to  his  own,  and  has  made 
up  his  mind  for  a  desperate  move  this  day — "  Isaacavitch, 
my  boy,  I've  got  some  good  news  for  you." 

"  Ha  !  " 
15 


226  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  She  is  dead  !  "  and  Platoff  grins  and  points  to  the 
picture. 

"  Dead  !  God  be  praised  !  And  her  estates  are  worth 
ten  million  roubles — one-half  to  you,  and  one-half  to 
Prince  Dimitri  Menchikoff  !  "  laughs  Zamaroff  in  excite- 
ment. 

"  She  is  dead  ; — certainly  !  but  she  didn't  have  a 
copeck  ! " 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  joke  !  Your  niece,  the  Countess  Ora 
Lapuschkin,  was  the  richest  heiress  in  Russia." 

"  My  niece,  the  Countess  Ora  Lapuschkin,  is  the  rich- 
est heiress  in  Russia  ;  but  she  was  a  consumptive  ballet 
girl  and — Quiet  !  "  For  here  the  Jew  utters  a  horrible 
cry,  and  has  risen  with  flaming  eyes,  as  if  he  would  fly  at 
him. 

After  a  moment  he  ejaculates  :  "  Oh,  your  high  nobil- 
ity, don't  play  with  my  heart !  You  know  you  introduced 
me  to  her  as  your  niece,  Ora  Lapuschkin,  long — long 
before  you  ever  hinted  at  a  loan  from  me  !  " 

"Certainly,"  says  Platoff,  slowly.  "That  was — part — 
of  my  plan.  That  poor  ballerina  was  dying  ;  I  was  kind  to 
her,  and  furnished  the  money  to  soothe  her  last  moments. 
In  return,  she  simply  assumed  the  name  of  my  niece,  at 
my  request — for  your  benefit." 

"  And  the  doctor  you  sent  to  see  her  at  Tula  only  last 
month — the  one  I  questioned  ? "  yells  the  wretched 
capitalist. 

"  He  was  a  doctor  of  the  highest  standing  in  Russia. 
That  young  lady  went  to  Tula  for  her  health.  The  doctor 
was  sent  by  me  to  attend  her,  and  told  you  the  truth  about 
her.  You  did  not  ask  him  who  his  patient  was,  but  how 
she  was  ! — She  was  very  ill  ;  but  my  niece  is  very  well. 
I'll  show  you  how  Ora  Lapuschkin  looks  now  ! "  With 
this  the  prince  goes  into  his  chamber  and  returns  with  a 
photograph.  As  he  enters  he  calls  out  to  Zamaroff,  who 
is  making  for  the  door  in  a  feeble,  dazed  sort  of  way  : 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 


227 


"  Isaacavitch,  old  fell,  you  needn't  bolt  to  the  bank  to 
stop  my  check.     It  has  doubtless  been  already  cashed  !  " 

At  which  the  wretched  creditor  utters,  in  a  cry  of 
despair  :  "  My  two  million  roubles  !  She  will  live  for- 
ever! "  and  sinks  into  a  chair  ;  for  he  has  seen  in  PlatofF s 
hand  a  photograph  of  divine  beauty  and  rosy  health. 

"  Not  quite  that  long  ;  but  still,  my  niece  bids  fair  to 
outlast  us  both — "  murmurs  Sergius,  with  a  grin,  "  if 
something  doesnt  happen  to  her  !  " 

"  God  of  Isaac  !  You  don't  mean  murder  !  "  whispers 
Zamaroff,  with  a  pale  face. 

"  Pooh  !  Not  I  !  "  laughs  Platoff.  "  But  when  she 
comes  of  age,  my  nephew  Dimitri  Menchikoff  means  to 
marry  this  beautiful  creature,  and  then  both  you  and  I, 
Zamaroff,  will  be  done  out  of  our  money." 

"  Well,  how  can  we  stop  that  ? "  gasps  Isaacavitch. 

"  How  ?  I'll  tell  you,"  returns  Platoff,  very  slowly  and 
very  impressively.  "  I'm  not  afraid  to  tell  you  ;  for  if  any 
thing  happens  to  me,  your  two  million  roubles  go  to  the 
devil  with  me."  With  this  he  takes  him  by  the  collar — for 
there  is  something  in  his  eye  that  frightens  the  Hebrew — 
leads  him  into  a  corner  of  his  study  (for  at  that  time  in 
Russia  every  house  had  its  police  spies,  not  seeking  for 
thieves,  but  for  nihilists),  and  whispers  to  him  the  plot 
that  had  been  fermenting  in  his  brain  ever  since  he 
learnt  the  governess  of  his  little  ward  was  a  socialist ; 
and  it  is  of  such  a  nature  that  the  Jew  utters  a  shriek  of 
fear,  bolts  out  of  his  house  trembling,  and  slinks  away 
from  Sergius  Platoff  for  over  a  month  ;  then,  driven 
desperate  by  the  loss  of  his  money,  one  day  comes  back 
to  him  and  says  :  "I'll  play  in  your  comedy  ;  but  it 
must  be  a  comedy  !  " 

"  So  it  shall — a  comedy  for  us  !  "  murmurs  Platoff, 
trying  a  laugh  which  dies  in  his  throat  ;  for  the  little  play 
he  had  conceived  was  a  very  serious  business,  and,  had 
he  not  been  desperate  also,  would  never  "have  been  per- 


228  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

formed.  For  the  political  troubles  of  that  time,  while 
they  made  Sergius's  scheme  a  practical  one,  also  made  it 
fearfully  dangerous,  if  things  went  wrong  ;  for  by  this 
time,  under  the  influence  of  several  social  factors, 
the  more  peaceable  nihilism  had  been  succeeded  by 
terrorism.  This  was  to  a  great  extent  brought  about  by 
the  influence  of  the  French  Commune,  whose  expiring 
fires  threw  human  political  brands  all  over  Europe,  a 
number  of  these  coming  to  Russia,  and  instructing  them 
how  to  ply  the  torch  and  bomb  there — among  them  Her- 
mann Margo,  the  chemist  of  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge.  This 
man  had  remained  at  the  Mazas  prison  till  the  outbreak  of 
the  Commune,  when  the  Reds  threw  open  the  doors  of 
the  jails  of  Paris  and  let  out  on  the  world  the  wickedness 
that  the  French  police  had  been  bottling  up  for  years — 
to  assist  them  to  fire  Paris  and  make  a  three  months' 
Hades  of  their  capital. 

After  order  had  been  restored  in  France,  this  man 
came  to  Russia  in  search  of  his  sister,  bringing  with  him 
some  curious  news  in  regard  to  the  fate  of  Auguste 
Lieber. 

These  political  troubles  Monsieur  Dimitri  was  aiding 
to  put  down  in  the  good  old-fashioned  Tartar  way  ;  and, 
having  flogged  all  of  one  village,  men  and  women,  and 
reported  it  as  crushing  an  incipient  outbreak,  he  received 
for  this  the  cross  of  Vladimir,  and  promotion  and  station 
at  the  capital,  where  he  now  came  to  make  the  situa- 
tion of  the  prince  and  his  capitalist  ally  more  desperate. 

About  this  time  Vera  Zassulic  set  all  Russia  on  fire  by 
shooting  down  one  General  TreporT  :  not  as  a  nihilist,  but 
as  an  angel  of  vengeance,  who  could  not  tamely  see  a 
police  despot  flog  and  torture  a  young  student  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  be  a  political  prisoner  in  his  autocratic 
clutches. 

To  the  eternal  honor  of  the  Slavic  race,  she  was  acquit- 
ted by  a  jury  of  her  countrymen.  To  the  eternal  disgrace 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  22Q 

of  the  Russian  Government,  it  was  the  last  jury  trial  they 
permitted  to  take  place  for  many  years 

This  excitement  set  Platoff  to  thinking  :  "  If  our  own 
Ora,  with  the  same  love  of  liberty  as  this  Vera  Zassulic, 
would  but  do  some  noble  deed  like  her,  then  her  estates 
would,  after  her  death  or  banishment,  come  to  me — no, 
only  one-half — the  other  half  to  Dimitri !  But  Dimitri 
is  a  police  official,  like  Trepoff.  Ah  !  if  Ora  were  only 
Vera,  who  is  expatriated,  and  Colonel  Dimitri  were  but 
General  Trepoff,  with  a  bullet  through  him — then  all 
would  come  to  me  !  "  This  curious  conceit  coming  into 
his  brain,  Sergius  PlatorT,  after  a  long  conversation  with 
the  banker  Zamaroff,  thinks  he  will  take  a  journey  to 
Tula,  to  learn  how  it  fares  with  his  ward  and  her  gov- 
erness. 

Arriving  there  one  winter  night,  he  gets  a  surprise  :  for 
Mademoiselle  de  Brian  rises  from  beside  the  great  Rus- 
sian stove,  that  is  full  of  burning  larch-wood,  dressed  in 
the  black  of  deepest  mourning. 

A  few  minutes  after,  they  chancing  to  be  alone,  he 
remarks  upon  this  costume  ;  and  she  says  it  is  for  her 
husband,  dead  five  years  before,  at  Cayenne,  and  that  her 
brother,  Hermann  Margo,  has  brought  her  the  news  from 
Paris.  "  Hermann  has  been  several  years  in  Russia,  but 
he  never  found  me  till  a  few  months  ago.  I  have  kept 
him  here  for  you  to  give  him  some  position  on  the  estate, 
my  dear  prince,"  she  murmurs,  with  a  look  that  indi- 
cates she  expects  no  refusal. 

"  All  right ;  he's  scientific,  I  believe,  if  I  remember 
de  Vigne's — no — de  Verney's  letter  aright.  You  will  ex- 
cuse my  not  recollecting  the  name  accurately  ;  it  is  some 
years  since  I  received  his  epistle.  We  can  make  Mon- 
sieur Hermann  steward,  or  superintendent,  or  something," 
replies  Platoff,  with  a  grin. 

His  grin  is  a  short  one ;  for  at  Maurice's  name  Made- 
moiselle de  Brian's  lips  begin  to  tremble,  and  a  moment 


230  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

after  she  bursts  forth  :  "  De  Verney — the  man  who 
betrayed  us  all  !  who  pretended  to  love  me,  that  he 
might  betray  us  !  My  brother  opened  my  eyes  wide  as 
to  him.  If  kind  nature  but  gives  me —  Here  she 
checks  herself,  and  mutters:  "  What  nonsense  !  I'll  never 
meet  him  again  ;  "  then  goes  on  and  tells  the  prince,  in 
a  few  words,  of  her  husband's  fate.  The  chemist  Her- 
mann remained  quiet  at  Mazas ;  the  athlete  Lieber, 
becoming  savage  and  surly  under  prison  rule,  one  day 
turned  on  a  warden  who  had  angered  him,  and  before 
aid  could-come,  nearly  strangled  his  keeper.  For  this  he 
was  promptly  tried,  and  sentenced  to  the  penal  settle- 
ment of  Cayenne  for  life  ;  there,  in  those  hot,  pesti- 
lential Guiana  cane- fields,  the  yellow  fever  came  and 
struck  the  Alsacian  down.  "  My  husband's  blood  is  on 

that  Frenchman's  head  !  and  if  I But  why  threaten, 

when  I'll  never  be  able  to  perform  ?  "  she  says  ;  and  awful 
rage  giving  way  to  tears,  this  young  lady,  to  whom  black 
is  very  becoming — being  in  fine  contrast  to  her  yellow 
hair  and  flashing  eyes — leaves  the  Platoff  to  go  to  bed  ; 
which  he  also  does  ;  but,  though  very  tired  from  his  long 
journey,  produces  from  his  pocket-book  de  Verney's 
letter,  a  little  the  worse  for  age,  and  reads  it  very  care- 
fully through  once  more.  He  thinks,  from  the  account 
it  gives  of  Hermann,  that  the  chemist  may  be  of  use  to 
him,  and  knows,  from  the  way  the  governess  has  looked 
at  his  ward  this  evening,  that  Mademoiselle  de  Brian 
loves  her  charge  no  better  than  she  did  when  first  she 
came  there. 

A  few  days  after  this,  looking  at  Ora — who  has  been 
kept  all  these  years  quite  as  a  child,  and  who  even  now, 
though  eighteen,  wears  her  hair  in  one  long  plait,  that 
falls  down  her  back,  after  the  fashion  of  the  peasant 
girls  of  this  province,  and  is  still  in  somewhat  abbre- 
viated skirts,  that  show  feet  and  ankles  of  marvelous 
beauty — being  scarcely  a  child,  and  yet  hardly  a  woman — 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  23! 

Prince  Platoff  mutters  :  "  The  fruit  is  ripe  for  pluck- 
ing !  "  Soon  after,  he  asks  the  governess  to  step  with 
him  into  his  study ;  there,  he  makes  her  a  very  curious 
proposition  in  regard  to  Ora. 

Mademoiselle  de  Brian  at  first  starts  from  him,  pale 
and  trembling,  and  mutters  :  "  You  must  be  mad.  I 
shall  not  play  with  fire,  even  to — — " 

"  To  destroy  her.  Think  how  you  hate  her.  In  some 
way  she  aided  Monsieur  dc  Verney  in  crushing  your 
plans — in  placing  your  brother  and  your  husband  in 
prison.  Through  this  child  your  husband  died.  Eh  ?" 

"She  helped  him  then — a  very  little  !"  murmurs  the 
governess. 

"  But  still  you  hate  her.  Join  me,  and  if  we  succeed, 
ma  belle  Mademoiselle  Marguerite " 

"  You  will  be  very  rich  !  "  sneers  the  lady.    "  And  I  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  generous." 

"  For  all  that  risk,  you  will  have  to  be — VERY  !  "  returns 
Lieber's  widow. 

"  How  much  ? " 

"  All !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asks  Sergius,  surprised. 

"I  mean,  if  I  am  to  be  your  slave,  make  me  your 
slave  ! " 

"How?"  mutters  the  prince.  "Don't  talk  in  rid- 
dles !  " 

"  Then  make  me  your  wife — wives  are  slaves  in  Russia 
— and  when  Monsieur  le  Prince  is  rich  with  the  spoils 
of  that  young  lady  out  there — Madame  la  Princesse  will 
be  rich  also  !  " 

"  Is  that  your  price  ?  "  murmurs  Platoff,  gazing  at  the 
beauty  of  this  woman,  which  is  perhaps  the  turning- 
weight  in  the  balance  of  his  mind. 

"  My  only  price — my  lowest  price  !  I'll  not  take  the 
awful  risk,  even  for  vengeance  of  her,  for  less! "  mutters 
Mademoiselle  de  Brian,  with  pale  face  and  trembling 


232  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

lips.  "  We  shall  be  walking  very  near  the  brink  of  the 
pit  ourselves." 

"  Well,"  cries  Sergius,  "  I  take  you  at  your  word;  you 
shall  be  my  slave — and  my  wife — my  beautiful  !  "  and, 
enflamed  by  lust  for  beauty  as  well  as  lust  for  wealth, 
this  horrible  old  man  seizes  his  helpless  ward's  governess 
in  his  arms,  and,  in  unholy  kisses,  seals  a  promise  of 
what  should  be  marriage  chaste  and  pure  ;  but  between 
these  two  is  an  awful  bargain  for  the  destruction  of  the 
happiness  of  a  child,  to  whom  they  both,  man  and  woman, 
owe  protection  and  defense  by  every  law,  human  and 
divine. 

After  lingering  over  the  beauty  of  his  future  spouse, 
Sergius,  with  a  grin  on  his  wicked  old  face,  whispers 
into  the  ear  close  to  his  :  "  Ma  belle,  we  must  arrange  a 
little  patriotic  circle  for  that  young  apostle  of  freedom — 
eh  ?  I  hope  her  governess  has  properly  fanned  the  flame 
of  liberty  in  her  charge's  mind  ? " 

The  answer  he  gets  pleases  him  :  "  Test  her  and  see  !  " 

So  the  two  walk  into  the  large  hall  of  this  country 
house,  and  there  finding  Ora,  who  is  at  the  piano,  singing 
some  old  Slavonic  peasant  hymn  with  her  noble,  honest 
contralto  voice,  Sergius  tells  his  ward  that  her  governess 
will  soon  be  her  aunt,  the  Princess  Platoff.  Then,  if 
it  were  possible  for  remorse  to  come  to  this  woman,  she 
would  repent.  The  girl  runs  to  her,  embraces  her,  and 
cries  :  u  Dear  Mademoiselle  de  Brian,  I  had  a  plan  to 
provide  for  your  comfort  after  I  had  come  of  age  and 
you  should  leave  me,  but  this  will  keep  you  near  me  for- 
ever ; "  for,  with  diabolical  art,  this  woman  has  won  the 
love,  trust,  and  confidence  of  Ora,  so  that  her  undoing 
shall  be  more  easy. 

The  governess,  however,  only  glances  at  Platoff,  and 
he  returns  a  smile,  for  he  feels  his  task  is  now  easy. 

Some  days  after  this,  Sergius,  in  his  bluff,  honest,  out- 
spoken manner,  during  the  winter  evenings,  that  are  now 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  233 

growing  rapidly  shorter  with  the  coming  of  spring,  begins 
to  tell  the  girl  anecdotes  of  the  political  troubles  that 
have  already  come  upon  the  country  ;  especially  the  case 
that  is  upon  everybody's  lips — that  of  Vera  Zassulic. 

Here  Ora  astonishes  and  delights  him,  for  she  says  : 
"  I  know  all  about  that  glory  of  Russian  womanhood — I 
often  dream  about  her,"  and  goes  on  about  the  shooter  of 
Trepoff  in  so  loud  a  tone  that,  though  she  delights  the 
prince,  she  also  frightens  him,  for  police  spies  are  every- 
where, and  there  may  be  some  even  in  this  far-away 
country  house  at  Tula — and  to  have  harm  come  to  the 
child  now  would  be  to  destroy  the  better  half  of  his  plan. 

From  this  time  on,  however,  he  gets  to  descanting  on 
the  particular  police  atrocities  of  her  cousin,  Dimitri 
Menchikoff,  and,  when  the  girl  shudders  and  cries  out  in 
horror  at  them,  says  :  "  Hush  !  you  forget,  Ora,  you  are 
criticising  your  future  lord  and  master — the  husband  you 
are  to  wed  next  year  !  " 

At  this  Ora  cries  out  in  an  awful  voice:  "  Never!  That 
cruel  monster  !  Never  !  " 

Then  Platoff  lisps  :  "  You  forget,  my  dear,  the  marriage 
contract ;  it  is  your  dead  father's  wish." 

And  she  answers  :  "  Do  you  think  my  dead  father 
would  wish  his  daughter  to  wed  a  wretch  who  would  beat 
his  wife  as  he  does  his  servants  ?  Do  you  think  I  have 
forgotten  Feodor,  his  valet's,  screams  the  last  time  he  was 
here  ?  "  then  shivers,  and  a  moment  after  mutters  :  "  Don't 
talk  of  it  ;  don't  dare  to  whisper  this  to  me  again  !  but 
when  the  time  comes,  don't  fear,  I  shall  know  how  to 
act  !  My  hand  shall  be  free  from  his  cruel  clutch,  as  my 
heart  is  now  !  " 

And  with  her  soul  making  radiant  her  beautiful  though 
childish  face — for  she  was  not  yet  as  fully  developed  as 
she  became  in  the  next  year — Ora  Lapuschkin  leaves 
Sergius  Platoff  very  happy  and  confident. 

The  spring  passes,  the  summer  comes.     Mademoiselle 


234  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

de  Brian,  the  governess,  is  changed  into  Madame  la 
Princesse  Platoff  quietly  at  the  little  Russian  church  on 
Ora's  estate.  Dimitri  somehow  finds  time  from  his 
police  duties  to  run  down  to  his  uncle's  wedding  at  Tula, 
and  upon  making  his  adieux  to  his  cousin  whispers, 
"  Fair  Ora,  next  summer  I  expect  to  attend  your  nuptials 
and  my  own,"  leaving  her  in  a  shiver  of  fright  and  dis- 
gust, for  his  tone  has  been  not  that  of  lover's  entreaty, 
but  of  autocratic  command. 

These  words  coming  to  Platoff' s  ears,  he  bites  his  lips, 
and  arranges  for  his  niece's  journeying  the  next  winter  to 
St.  Petersburg  for  her  dtbut  in  the  society  of  that  city — 
for  there  he  has  made  up  his  mind  the  drama  he  has 
been  concocting  must  be  played  in  all  the  awful  scenes 
he  has  arranged  for  it. 

All  this  time  the  social  state  of  Russia  is  becoming 
more  atrocious,  for  early  in  the  year  a  number  of  police 
spies  are  destroyed,  and  Keyking,  the  chief  of  the  Kief 
gendarmes,  is  stabbed  to  the  heart  on  the  public  streets 
of  that  city.  But  these  are  but  preliminary — in  August 
the  terrorists  give  the  nation  a  shock.  Mesentzoff,  head 
of  the  Third  Section,  is  knifed  to  death  in  the  Nevskoi 
Prospekt,  the  most  fashionable  thoroughfare  of  St. 
Petersburg.  During  broad  day,  right  in  that  crowded 
street,  while  ladies  are  doing  their  afternoon  shopping, 
and  counter-jumpers  are  pulling  down  goods  and  com- 
paring shades  in  silks  and  satins,  they  slay  the  head  of 
the  all-pervading,  all-powerful  secret  police. 

The  reprisals  of  the  affrighted  Government  are  awful. 
Instead  of  persecuting  the  political  societies  now  in 
opposition  to  the  czar,  they  persecute  the  whole  of  Rus- 
sia— especially  its  capital.  Spies  lurk  behind  each  din- 
ner-table of  St.  Petersburg  ;  all  live  in  suspense,  for, 
in  the  dead  of  night  or  the  open  mid-day,  daughters  and 
sons  may  disappear,  and  affrighted  parents  not  dare  to 
ask  what  has  happened  to  their  loved  ones  ;  the  father  of 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  235 

the  house  may  not  return  to  it,  and  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren be  afraid  to  inquire  how  the  loved  head  of  their 
home  has  disappeared  from  out  their  daily  lives.  No  man, 
woman,  nor  child  is  safe  without  a  passport,  and  some- 
times not  even  with  one  ;  for  the  ukase  of  September 
has  been  issued — proclaiming,  in  time  of  peace,  military 
law  and  military  trial  for  all  offenses  against  the  Govern- 
ment, and,  worse  than  that,  " preventative  detention," 
which  means  imprisonment  without  trial,  for  years,  for 
life,  perhaps,  simply  because  the  police  suspect  and  can- 
not prove. 

Into  this  social  hell  of  St.  Petersburg,  just  at  the  begin- 
ning of  1879,  her  mind  on  fire  with  patriotic  love  of 
liberty,  young  Ora  Lapuschkin  was  brought  for  sacrifice  on 
the  altar  of  Mammon  by  her  guardian,  Sergius  Platoff. 

Into  this  same  genial,  merry  hell — for  society  was 
laughing  over  its  balls,  dinners,  operas,  theaters,  and 
winter  dissipations — it  dared  not  look  otherwise  than 
happy  ;  sullenness  and  sadness  might  be  suspected — 
Maurice  de  Verney,  some  two  months  afterward,  came, 
charged  with  a  special  mission  from  MacMahon,  the 
President  of  the  French  Republic,  to  the  minister  of 
France  at  the  Court  of  St.  Petersburg. 

Receiving  no  answer  to  his  letter  to  General  Lapusch- 
kin, the  Franco-German  War  had  soon  after  driven  the 
little  Ora  from  his  mind.  He  had  served  his  country  faith- 
fully in  that  contest,  as  one  great  German  Uhlan-lance 
scar  across  his  forehead  showed.  His  wounds  had  all 
been  flesh  wounds  ;  and,  recovered  from  these,  nearly  all 
his  wonderful  strength  and  activity  of  body  returned  to 
him.  His  mind,  devoted  in  the  last  few  years  to  politics 
and  government,  had  expanded  and  ripened.  In  fact,  le 
Chevalier  de  Verney,  now  at  thirty-seven,was  still  the  dash- 
ing fellow  he  had  been  ten  years  before,  only  mellowed, 
and,  like  wine,  improved  by  age.  His  honorable  scar 


236  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

gave  dignity  to  his  merry  countenance,  and  he  was  as 
much  the  rage  with  the  belles  of  the  Third  Republic  as  he 
had  been  with  the  court  beauties  of  the  Second  Empire. 

So  it  comes  to  pass,  one  evening  some  few  weeks  after 
his  arrival,  at  a  great  ball  given  by  Mrs.  S.  Wetmore 
Johnston,  who  is  still  living  at  the  palace  of  the  Lapusch- 
kins,  and  who  has  invited  all  St.  Petersburg  to  her/^te, 
including  the  French  legation,  a  young  lady  in  flashing 
jewels  and  dressed  as  a  boyard  heiress — that  is,  with 
Russian  extravagance  and  French  taste — comes  up  to 
him,  and,  in  unaffected  grace,  smiles  like  a  sunburst  on 
him,  and  says  :  "  My  old  playmate,  the  Chevalier  de 
Verney  !  I  recognize  you  all  but  the  saber  cut !  Don't 
you  remember  me  ? " 

"  Mademoiselle — certainly — I — last  winter,  in  Vien- 
na !  "  stammers  Maurice  ;  but  as  he  looks  at  her  he  knows, 
had  he  met  such  beauty  before,  he  would  remember  it. 

"Ah,  yes — in  Vienna,"  returns  the  lady,  playfully; 
"  or  was  it  not  at  Rome,  in  carnival  ? — perchance  I  was 
masked." 

A  moment  after  her  lips  tremble  with  something 
more  intense  than  chagrin.  She  murmurs  sadly  :  "  You 
never  remember  me  !  Perhaps  you'll  recollect  the  bear's 
nest  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne." 

At  this  de  Verney  gasps — "  Ora  Lapuschkin  !  " 

Then  she  cries  :  "  Yes,  grown  up  !     I  forgive  you  !  " 

"  Prove  it,"  says  Maurice. 

"How?" 

"  By  the  next  turn  in  this  mazourke." 

"  Not  the  next  ;  the — let  me  see — fifth  !  "  laughs  the 
girl.  "  My  first  is  with  Dubroskey,  of  the  hussars  ;  my 
next  with  Orloff,  of  the  guard  ;  my  third  with  Andrassy 
of  the  Austrian  embassy,  and  my  fourth  with  Higgins,  of 
the  Standard  Oil.  There  they  are,  all  standing  in  a  row 
waiting  for  me  ;  "  for  the  young  countess,  being  an  heiress 
and  a  beauty,  in  her  three  months  in  St.  Petersburg  had 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  237 

become  a  great  belle,  and,  Eve-like,  was  taking  all  the 
enjoyment  she  could  from  her  position. 

Following  her  glance,  de  Verney  gazes  upon  a  dashing 
hussar  officer,  a  giant  in  the  gorgeous  uniform  of  the 
Preobrajensky,  a  young  Austrian  attache,  and  Mr.  Hig- 
gins,  whom  he  had  known  in  Paris.  This  young  gentle- 
man, his  father  having  left  him  an  interest  in  that  great 
American  monopoly,  is  now  en  route  to  Baku,  to  see  what 
danger  of  competition  the  coal-oil  fields  of  that  place 
portend  to  the  kerosene  trust. 

"  You'd  better  take  your  place  in  my  ranks,"  whis- 
pers the  countess,  who,  after  the  fashion  of  her  capital, 
is  cutting  up  her  dances  into  turns  of  infinitesimal 
length.  A  moment  after,  as  he  steps  into  his  posi- 
tion, she  whispers  archly  to  him  :  "  Perhaps  I'll  give 
you  the  longest,  if  you  dance  very  well,"  and  is  whirled 
into  the  crowd  of  waltzers  by  the  hussar,  leaving  Maurice 
gazing  at  her,  as  at  some  fairy  vision.  Being  to-night 
all  tulle,  gauze,  lace,  and  dazzling  jewels,  she  looks  grace- 
ful as  a  sylph,  though  her  flashing  arms  and  fair  white 
shoulders  and  bust  have  the  development  of  magnifi- 
cent womanhood. 

As  de  Verney  stands  beside  Mr.  Higgins,  whom  he 
recognizes,  he  is  probably  for  the  moment  dazed  at 
his  encounter.  His  eyes  follow  this  dazzling  being  as 
she  floats  in  and  out  among  the  dancers  ;  his  mind 
goes  back  to  the  little  girl  in  the  Bois,  and  he  mutters  to 
himself  :  "  By  George,  I  predicted  it  !  but  she  exceeds 
prophecy  !  "  The  next  moment  he  gives  a  sudden  blush  ; 
for  into  his  mind  has  suddenly  come  a  thought  that 
startles  him  :  "  By  Heaven  !  How  glad  I  am  that  I 
have  never  married  ! " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    BALL    ON    THE    FRONTANKA. 

IN  a  hasty,  nervous  way,  almost  as  if  he  feared  an 
answer,  Maurice  suddenly  turns  to  Mr.  Higgins,  and  says  : 
"  The  young  lady  with  whom  I  am  about  to  dance  is  still 
Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin  ? " 

"  No,"  returns  the  American,  "  she  is  not  Mademoi- 
selle Lapuschkin." 

"  No  ?  "  mutters  Maurice,  his  face  growing  anxious. 

"  Certainly  not !  "  continues  Higgins.  "  She  is  Made- 
moiselle la  Comtesse  Lapuschkin  !  I  never  omit  titles  !  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  returns  the  chevalier,  a  sudden  happy 
relief  lighting  his  face.  "  Of  course  not !  you're  an 
American." 

"  It's  mighty  queer,  do  you  know.  You're  not  the  only 
man  who  wonders  if  she  is  married,  before  he's  intro- 
duced. They  all  take  a  shine  to  her  at  first  squint," 
replies  Higgins;  "but,  though  very  fetching,  from  bangs 
to  slippers,  I'd  never  dare  to  marry  the  belle  of  St.  Peters- 
burg." 

«  No  ?— why  ?  " 

"  Because  she'd  make  me  toe  the  matrimonial  mark  too 
deuced  square.  How  do  you  think  a  man  would  ever  dare 
to  stay  out  all  night — at  the  club  or  anywhere  else — with 
those  great  honest  eyes  waiting  for  him  at  home  next 
morning  over  the  breakfast-table  ?  You  can  sometimes 
purchase  beauty  too  high,  chevalier.  For  matrimonial 
purposes  give  me  the  trusting  little  chick  who  cries  in 
secret,  but  don't  lay  me  out  with  a  glance  when  I've  been 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  239 

on  the  loose.  Jove  !  I  don't  believe  a  diamond  neck- 
lace would  compromise  an  escapade  for  hubby  with  that 
girl  ;  and  a  thousand  shares  of  New  York  Central  wouldn't 
buy  peace  if  a  first-class  scandal  dropped  into  the  family. 
You  see,  I'm  quite  a  philosopher  !  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Gracious!  I  do  believe  she's  the  kind  of  wife  that  would 
despise  me  in  a  year,"  murmurs  Higgins. 

"  Perhaps  in  less,"  thinks  Maurice,  though  he  doesn't 
say  it. 

A  moment  after  this  the  American  gives  him  a  very 
queer  feeling. 

"  I  believe,  though,"  he  runs  on,  "  that  big  dark  chap 
over  there,  the  one  with  the  stiff  shoulder — I  saw  him  get 
it  from  that  masked  wrestler  in  Paris,  long  ago — is  her 
coming  lord  and  master.  Rumor  says  so  ;  and  if  those  two 
ever  struggle  for  domestic  boss-ship — wheugh  !  Look  at 
her  eyes — see  'em  flash  now — there's  ginger  for  you!  " 

The  next  second,  after  an  incipient  sigh,  Mr.  Higgins 
murmurs  :  "He's  just  the  brute  to  try  and  conquer  her, 
too  !  " 

For  even  to  his  crude  mind  the  idea  of  the  union  of 
so  fair  and  noble  a  creature  with  a  man  of  Dimitri's 
atrocious  character  seems  horrible.  This  is  not  wholly 
unknown  to  him,  for  he  now  whispers  in  de  Verney's  ear: 
"  They  say  he's  one  of  the  Secret,  and  tortures  prison- 
ers !  But,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  let  out  I  told  you  !  " 
Then  runs  on  aloud  again,  "  Excuse  me  !  here  is  my 
partner  ! — My  turn  next,  mademoiselle  la  comtesse  ! — 
charmed  !  You  like  the  five-step,  I  think  ? "  And  with 
this  leads  off  the  beautiful  girl  he  has  been  discoursing 
upon  ;  leaving  Maurice  in  a  very  brown  study,  but  very 
anxious  for  his  turn  also. 

It  comes  at  last  ! — and  as  he  guides  her  through  the 
whirling  crowd  of  brilliant  uniforms  and  lovely  women, 
and  Hungarian  music  floats  through  the  air  to  him,  stimu- 


240  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

lating  romance  and  love  in  his  heart,  which  is  still  fresh 
as  a  boy's — for  the  first  time  in  his  life  Maurice  de  Ver- 
ney  feels  Ora  Lapuschkin's  heart  beat  against  his. 

This  bliss  is  but  a  fleeting  one.  Though  they  are  both 
fond  of  dancing,  they  both  wish  to  talk  ;  and  in  the  ma- 
zourke,  danced  with  the  vigorous  vivacity  that  only  the 
Slavic  races  give  to  it,  there  is  too  much  use  for  breath 
to  permit  any  of  it  for  conversation.  Therefore,  after 
attempting  to  do  the  two  things  at  once,  they  give  up 
one  entirely  ;  and  that  is  the  mazourke. 

By  the  time  they  have  regained  their  breath,  they  have 
got  into  the  great  conservator}7,  or  winter  garden,  as  it  is 
called  in  that  country,  and  without  which  no  grand  Rus- 
sian house  is  complete. 

Here  Ora  turns  and  says:  "  We  are  very  good  partners, 
are  we  not,  Monsieur  de  Verney  ?  Our  steps  go  very  well 
together." 

"Yes  ;  as  we  were  good  playfellows  a  long  time  ago," 
murmurs  Maurice. 

"  Ah,  you  remember  it  then  !  I'm  so  glad — I  feared 
you  had  forgotten  it  entirely,"  returns  Ora.  "  Grown- 
up gentlemen  have  bad  memories  for  little  girls." 

"  Not  when  they  have  become  such  young  ladies  as 
Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin  !  "  says  de  Verney,  gazing  at 
her  with  all  his  eyes  ;  for,  backgrounded  by  the  vivid 
green  of  some  palms  and  an  orange  tree  in  full  fruit,  in 
floating  gauze,  which  outlines  her  noble  yet  graceful 
form — with  one  white  arm,  exquisite  in  contour  as  ever 
sculptor  gave  to  marble,  bare  to  the  shoulder  save 
where  the  diamonds  of  her  bracelets  flash  in  the  light  as 
she  carelessly  plucks  a  ripening  orange — the  girl  makes 
a  picture  that  no  man  could  look  on  with  aught  but 
admiration,  though  in  de  Verney's  case  the  feeling  is 
somewhat  deeper. 

Perhaps  his  glance  brings  some  curious  response  to 
her  mind  ;  for  as  he  gazes  at  her  a  sudden  flush  flies  up 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  241 

into  the  )roung  countess's  beautiful  face  and  her  grand 
eyes  meet  his.  They  are  bright  with  vivacity,  vivid  with 
youth,  and  gay  with  excitement. 

The  next  instant  there  is  a  voice  at  her  elbow,  and 
with  a  start  Maurice  sees  come  into  those  same  lovely 
eyes  the  saddest  look  he  has  ever  seen  on  human  face. 
Colonel  Dimitri  Menchikoff  is  bending  over  her,  and 
remarking  that  the  first  turn  in  the  coming  waltz  is  his. 

As  he  says  this,  the  sadness  leaves  Ora  Lapuschkin's 
eyes  ;  they  become  cold,  haughty,  and  judicial.  She  rises 
languidly  and  says,  "Yes,  I  believe  so."  And  in  answer 
to  the  guardsman's  inquiring  glance — for,  though  attached 
to  the  secret  service,  Dimitri  still  has  military  rank  and 
promotion,  as  is  the  custom  in  Russia — murmurs:  "  An 
old  friend  of  mine  !  Colonel  de  Verney,  let  me  present 
you  to  my  cousin  Prince  Dimitri  Menchikoff. " 

Both  men  respond  to  the  introduction, — Dimitri  with  an 
affable  bow  and  a  remark  that  he  had  heard  of  Monsieur 
de  Verney  in  Paris,  and  hoped  his  visit  to  St.  Petersburg 
would  be  a  pleasant  one.  "  You  come  on  some  diplo- 
matic matter,  I  believe  ?  "  he  concludes. 

"  Yes.  I  have  been  sent  to  consult  with  the  French 
minister,"  replies  Maurice,  returning  the  salute.  As  the 
two  leave  him  for  the  ball-room,  he  gazes  after  them  and 
sees  that  the  face  of  the  Russian,  always  cruel,  has  been 
made  by  time  harder  and  more  malevolent.  Then,  his 
eye  passing  to  the  graceful  girl  at  Dimitri's  side,  de  Ver- 
ney, noting  how  she  seems  to  shrink  from  her  companion, 
suddenly  wonders  if  the  marriage  contract,  he  remem- 
bers Ora's  father  spoke  of,  is  still  uncanceled,  and  if 
this  is  not  the  cause  of  Ora  Lapuschkin's  sorrowful  eyes. 

The  girl  has  not  mentioned  the  old  general,  and,  not 
wishing  to  open  an  unhealed  wound  in  the  young  coun- 
tess's heart,  he  makes  inquiry  as  to  General  Lapuschkin's 
fate  from  some  passing  acquaintance,  and  finds  that  the 
old  veteran  has  passed  away  years  ago. 
16 


242  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Some  half  an  hour  after  this,  a  fan  is  laid  on  Maurice's 
arm,  and  a  soft  voice  says  :  "  Monsieur  de  Verney,  let  me 
present  to  you  a  gentleman  you,  as  a  diplomat,  should 
know — the  Honorable  Cuthbert  Beresford,  of  the  British 
legation." 

"  Ah  !  very  happy  !  "  says  Ora's  escort,  a  florid  little 
Englishman  of  twenty-one.  "  You're  attached  to  the 
French  embassy,  I  believe,  Monsieur  de  Verney.  As  the 
countess  says,  we  diplomats  should  be  always  friendly, 
don't  yer  know  ?  When  two  nations  are  cutting  each 
other's  throats,  who  are  not  fighting  ? — the  diplomats  ! 
They're  trying  over  their  wine  and  cigars,  in  a  friendly 
way,  to  patch  up  peace.  Don't  yer  see  ? " 

"  I  see,"  returns  de  Verney  with  a  smile.  "  You're 
not  only  a  diplomat  but  a  philosopher,  Mr.  Beres- 
ford." 

"  Oh  !  come  now  !  You're — awh — quite  compliment- 
ary— don't  yer  see  ?  My  remark  was  a  quotation — of 
course.  Never  had  an  original  ideah  in  my  life — don't 
yer  know  ?  " 

"  Wine  and  cigars  suggest  supper,"  says  Ora  with  a 
smile,  "  and  I  believe " 

"  I  am  to  have  the  honor  of  taking  you  there,  Made- 
moiselle la  Comtesse  !  "  interjects  Maurice  with  the  easy 
fib  of  a  man  of  the  world,  hoping  that  is  what  will  please 
her,  and  seeing  that  she  would  like  to  get  a  moment  from 
young  Beresford. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  replies  the  young  lady,  and  accepts 
his  arm.  After  they  are  out  of  Cuthbert's  hearing,  how- 
ever, she  suddenly  says  :  "  I  left  you  rather  hastily  a  few 
minutes  ago,  Monsieur  de  Verney ;  because,  to  have 
refused  my  cousin  the  dance  he  claimed,  for  your  society, 
would  have  made  him  your  enemy,  and  Prince  Dimitri 
Menchikoff  is  very  powerful  at  present — in  police  matters. 
I  hope  you  understand  me." 

"  Certainly.     I  believe  he  is  one  of  the  heads  of  the 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  243 

Third  Section — but  you  have  no  reason  to  fear  him,  I 
presume,  Countess  Ora." 

"  No  !  "  replies  the  girl,  flushing  haughtily  ;  "  I  fear  no 
one  !  "  A  moment  after,  she  astounds  the  chevalier,  for 
he  thinks  he  hears  her  mutter  in  almost  despair  :  "  I  am 
beyond  fear  now." 

Before  he  can  make  any  reply,  mademoiselle  astonishes 
him  again.  She  vivaciously  cries  :  "  But  I  have  not  asked 
about  your  life  since  I  saw  you — that's  ten  years  !  I  don't 
think  that  sword- wound  unbecoming.  It  was  for  your 
country,  and  I  like  patriotic  men.  You  wear  the  grand 
cross— tell  me  how  you  gained  it.  Tell  me  of  your 
life  ! "  rattling  on  as  if  she  wished  to  stop  thought  by 
speech. 

"You  have  not  informed  me  of  yours — ladies  first !" 
interjects  Maurice. 

"  Oh,  mine  !  "  says  the  girl.  "  My  life — well,  if  the 
adventures  of  a  young  lady  who  has  within  three  months 
been  put  in  long  dresses, — school-room  records,  and  the 
life  of  a  Russian  country  house  will  please  you — yes  !  " 
Her  manner  all  this  time  being  artificial,  forced,  and  un- 
natural, the  chevalier  thinks  ;  for  her  eyes  are  wild,  and 
at  times  desperate  in  their  intensity,  while  her  hands  give 
one  or  two  nervous  movements. 

"  Your  father !  "  murmurs  Monsieur  de  Verney. 

"  My  father !  Oh,  yes  !  You  were  his  friend — his  boy 
friend,  he  used  to  call  you  to  me  after  we  came  back  to 
this  ac — ,  after  we  left  France.  Oh,  if  we  had  stayed  there ! 
Then  my  father  would  not  have  died  ;  then — but  why 
have  vain  regrets  ?  Why  not  tell  you  without  emotion  ? " 
says  the  girl  ;  and  forcing  herself  to  calmness,  she 
informs  de  Verney  how  her  father  died  but  a  few  months 
after  leaving  France,  and  she  has  been  educated  at  Tula, 
and  only  brought  back  to  St.  Petersburg  this  present 
winter,  to  make  her  bow  at  court. 

"  Your  father  never  mentioned  receiving  a  letter  from 


244  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

me  after  his  arrival  in  Russia?"  suddenly  queries 
Maurice. 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  but  it  is  a  long  time  for  me  to 
remember  with  certainty.  Why  do  you  ask  ? " 

"  Only  that  I  wrote  to  him,"  remarks  de  Verney.  "  I, 
I — presume  you  had  a  competent  instructress  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !  At  least,  every  one  says  my  French  and 
German  are  very  good— and  my  music.  Oh,  what  an 
egotist  you  must  think  me  !  It's  not  right  to  lay  traps 
for  a  girl's  vanity,  Monsieur  Maurice  ;  and  I — I've  only 
been  out  for  three  months,  and  am,  as  you  must  see, 
inexperienced  !  "  This  last  is  said  with  a  blush  and  a 
laugh  ;  but  she  has  called  him  as  she  did  that  day  in  the 
Bois  de  Bologne,  and  is  more  like  the  little  countess  he 
remembers  than  she  has  been  at  any  time  this  evening. 

"  You  bring  back  to  me  more  strongly  than  ever  my 
playmate  of  the  Bois  de  Bologne  !  "  mutters  Maurice,  a 
sudden  spasm  of  feeling  coming  to  him  as  he  notes 
her  magnificent  beauty,  and  suddenly  remembers  some- 
thing. Then  he  says  slowly  and  meaningly  :  "  Do  you 
recollect  the  disclosure  you  made  to  your  father,  and  that 
he  confided  to  me  ?  " 

"  N — no  !  "  replies  Ora  reflectively. 

"  Think  !  "  says  Maurice,  a  new  light  coming  into  his 
eyes  that  no  woman  had  ever  seen  there  before.  "  Look 
straight  at  me  and  think!" 

With  this,  some  subtle  fire  connects  his  mind — per- 
chance even  his  heart — and  her  own. 

Ora  Lapuschkin  gives  a  short,  gasped-out  "  Oh,  yes  !  " 
her  face  grows  red  in  the  mighty  blush  of  coming  memory, 
then  pale  as  death,  and  her  lips,  trembling,  breathe  forth  : 
"  I — re — member  ! "  She  droops  her  head,  and  turns  it 
from  his  gaze. 

For  a  moment  de  Verney  is  startled.  His  words  have 
produced  so  much  greater  effect  than  he  expected  ;  the 
next,  some  kind  of  half-crazy  joy  fills  his  brain — some 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  245 

sudden  intoxication  from  the  champagne,  of  which 
there  has  been  plenty,  or  her  beauty,  of  which  there  has 
been  more— for,  as  she  gazed  on  him,  there  has  flowed  to 
his  brain  this  wild  idea  :  "  Her  child  love  is  her  woman's 
passion  !  "  and  brought  joy  unutterable  and  triumphant 
madness  to  his  soul ;  for  revelation  has  come  to  him, 
and  he  knows  that  thirty  minutes  within  the  charm  of 
that  soft,  touching  voice,  and  under  those  great,  blue, 
honest  eyes,  through  which  flashes  out  a  noble  soul,  have 
been  fatal  to  a  heart  that  he  had  thought  impregnable  and 
that  till  now  had  passed  through  several  cycles  of  beauties 
unmoved,  and,  better  still,  unsullied  and  unsoiled. 

He  bends  over  her  and  whispers  :  "  Forgive  me  ;  I 
startled  you.  I " 

She  looks  up  at  him  and  attempts  a  little  laugh,  then 
says :  "  One  shouldn't  be  reminded  of  the  follies  of 
youth.  Every  one  says  I  was  a  wayward  and  impulsive 
child  ;  my  guardian,  who  is  coming  here,  will  tell  you 
the  same  thing. — Prince  Platoff,  this  is  my  old  friend, 
Monsieur  de  Verney." 

"  An  old  friend  ?  "  says  Sergius.  looking  hard  at  Mau- 
rice, but  bowing  cordially.  "  Why,  you've  only  been 
three  months  in  St.  Petersburg  to  make  friends,  ma 
belle  !  "  for  Platoff  was  very  affectionate  to  his  niece 
about  this  time. 

"  She  refers  to  France,  I  hope,  Monsieur  le  Prince," 
replies  Maurice.  "  I  had  the  honor  to  make  the  coun- 
tess's acquaintance  when  she  was  a  child  in  Paris  with 
her  father  ! " 

"  Oh  !  "  This  is  a  little  start  from  Platoff.  A  moment 
after  he  goes  on  :  "  Monsieur  de .  I  beg  your  par- 
don, I  did  not  catch  your  name,"  though  he  knows  the 
chevalier's  cognomen  now,  and  his  signature  even  better. 

"  Monsieur  de  Verney,  my  uncle,"  repeats  his  ward. 
"  Haven't  you  ever  heard  me  speak  of  him  ?  You 
know " 


246  THAT  FRENCHMAN  ! 

But  here  the  prince  cuts  quickly  in,  and  gives  Maurice's 
heart  a  beat  of  joy,  and  Ora's  face  another  blush,  for  he 
cries  :  "  De  Verney  ?  Oh,  yes  !  you  were  forever  gab- 
bling of  him  as  a  child.  Maurice,  I  think  she  called 
you.  Madame  la  Princesse,  my  wife,  would  be  delighted 
to  see  you,  but  she  is  at  Tula  just  now  !  Won't  you 
join  us  at  our  supper  table  ?  We  shall  be  only  my  niece, 
Herr  Zamaroff  the  banker,  and  myself  !  " 

With  this,  he  takes  Ora's  hand,  places  it  upon  his  arm, 
and  murmurs  :  "  My  niece  looks  so  beautiful  to-night 
that  her  guardian  was  tempted  to  dance  himself,  but  the 
mazourke  is  bad  for  rheumatic  joints.  Don't  forget  our 
supper  table,  Monsieur  de  Verney,"  and  leads  Ora  away. 

Sergius  thinks  it's  just  as  well  that  de  Verney  does  not 
know  who  his  wife  is.  As  he  walks  he  meditates,  and, 
chancing  on  a  brilliant  lie,  promptly  tells  it  to  his  niece 
with  proper  effect. 

"  I  would  not  mention  to  Monsieur  Maurice,  if  I  were 
you,  Ora,"  he  whispers,  "  that  Mademoiselle  de  Brian, 
your  former  governess,  is  now  my  wife  !  " 

"Indeed!  why?" 

"Well;  Monsieur  de  Verney  was  once  very  much  in 
.love  with  her,  and  it  might  hurt  his  feelings.  He  wished 
to  marry  her,  I  understood,  but  she  had  no  dot ;  and, 
though  the  young  man  was  very  much  cut  up  about  it, 
the  affair  was  broken  off." 

"  Ah  !  "  and  the  girl's  white  hand  trembles  a  little  on 
his  black  sleeve. 

Noticing  that  in  some  way  what  he  says  affects  his 
niece,  he  goes  on  and  clinches  his  falsehood  by  "  You 
remember,  it  was  de  Verney's  recommendation,  or  that 
of  his  family,  which  induced  your  father  to  engage  Made- 
moiselle de  Brian  ! " 

"  It  was  his  !  I  remember  all  about  it  now.  He  sent 
her  to  us,"  replies  the  young  countess  suddenly. 

Then  she  turns  her  head  away,  and,  try  as   he  may, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  247 

Sergius  cannot  see  her  face  till  they  sit  down  at  the  sup- 
per table. 

This  conversation  has  the  effect  intended.  For  months 
Maurice  never  discovers  who  the  Princess  Platoff  is. 
He  once  or  twice  mentions  the  subject  of  her  governess  ; 
but  the  girl  simply  tells  him  she  has  had  a  very  capable 
and  noble  instructress  ;  for,  though  she  will  not  admit  it 
to  herself,  these  words  of  Platoff  have  made  Mademoiselle 
Lapuschkin  jealous  of  her  former  governess. 

This  feeling  affects  the  girl  at  the  supper  table,  where 
they  are  shortly  joined  by  de  Verney,  who,  after  being 
introduced  to  Herr  Zamaroff,  who  has  disfigured  himself 
with  diamonds  for  this  grand  occasion,  sits  down  beside 
Ora  Lapuschkin,  to  find  her  almost  a  different  being  to 
the  one  who  moved  from  his  side  three  minutes  before. 

She  is  now  light,  almost  frivolous,  in  her  remarks,  and, 
when  she  gets  opportunity,  cold  as  ice  but  cutting  as 
glass  to  him  ;  giving  him  at  times  such  telling  shots  as, 
"  Do  all  Frenchmen  marry  for  money,  and  none  for  love  ? " 

"  I  am  told  now  that  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  France 

is  the  goddess  of  liberty,  because  she  is  on  your  new 
twenty-franc  pieces." 

At  this  mention  of  the  goddess  of  liberty,  Zamaroff 
turns  white,  Platoff  trembles  in  his  chair,  and  even 
Maurice — remembering  that,  this  being  Russia,  spies  are 
everywhere,  and  liberty  a  proscribed  word — says  to  her  : 
u  Permit  a  friend's  advice — never  speak  of  politics." 

"  Neither  did  I  !  "  returns  the  young  lady  ;  "  I  spoke 

of  beauty,  the  beauty .  But,  excuse  me  ;  here  comes 

Cousin  Dimitri,  looking  rather  pale,  but  very  savage. — 
What  is  the  news  that  makes  you  seem  more  irritable 
than  usual,  Cousin  Dimitri  ? "  and  she  rises  and  laughs  at 
a  face  that  is  white,  but  at  that  moment  cruel  as  a  starving 
Bengal  tiger's  that  scents  living  prey. 

"  This  is  it !  This  telegram  says,"  mutters  the  savage, 
"  Prince  Krapotkin,  governor  of  Kharkoff,  has  just  been 


248  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

shot  to  death  by  a  JEW  !  "  Here  he  glares  at  Zamaroff, 
who  cringes  till  his  head  is  level  with  the  table,  and  the 
champagne  that  he  is  trying  to  drink  is  shaken  by  his 
trembling  over  his  diamonds  on  his  shirt-bosom. 

"Then  the  assassin  has  been  captured?"  remarks 
Maurice. 

"  No  !  He  escaped  ;  but  I  have  reason  to  guess  who 
he  is  ;  and  when  I  catch  him "  whispers  Dimitri. 

Here  he  checks  himself  suddenly  and  says  :  "  That  is 
the  reason  I  am  called  to  Kharkoff,  and  come  to  bid  you 
adieu  for  a  few  weeks,  Cousin  Ora." 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  the  prince's  assassination  ?  " 
inquires  de  Verney. 

"  The  usual  one  !  Krapotkin  was  one  of  us — that's 
all  !  Soon  these  murderous  fanatics  will  bag  all  us 
boyards  !  "  cries  Platoff,  as  if  in  despair.  "  Take  care  of 
yourself,  Dimitri — good  care  of  yourself,  for  your  own 
sake  and — Ora's !  "  This  last  is  said  very  earnestly  ; 
for,  in  truth,  Sergius  would  not  at  this  moment  lose 
Dimitri  for  the  world.  He  has  a  much  better  use  for 
him. 

As  her  guardian's  concluding  phrase  comes  to  her  ears, 
the  girl  grows  very  pale.  Then,  catching  de  Verney 's 
eye,  she  blushes  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  and  says,  indiffer- 
ently :  "  Don't  hurry  your  return,  Dimitri,  on  my  account. 
Good-by  !  "  Next,  mutters  to  him  with  a  pleading  voice, 
"  For  God's  sake,  be  merciful  to  those  poor  captives  !  " 

"  Ah  !  won't  I  !  "  hisses  Dimitri,  rage  overcoming  his 
Russian  finesse.  "  The  political  prisoners  shall  pay  for 
poor  Krapotkin's  murder  !  They  are  trembling  now  in 
the  Central  prison  of  Kharkoff — AWAITING  ME  !  " 

At  this  awful  threat  against  the  helpless,  Ora  Lapusch- 
kin  becomes  a  different  being  ;  her  eyes,  that  were  plead- 
ing, burn  and  blaze  with  a  new  and  strange  light.  Though 
only  of  the  medium  height,  she  looks  very  tall  now,  and 
slowly  says  :  "  You,  of  course — need  not  fear  the  same 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  249 

fate  as  Prince  Krapotkin,  my  cousin  ?  You  never  ordered 
political  prisoners— even  women  —to  be  flogged  ?  These 
nih—  These  people'll  spare  yon,  because  you  are  so 
gentle,  so  merciful,  so  kind  hearted  ?  " 

At  her  speech,  which  is  in  two  spasms — one  of  indigna- 
tion, the  other  of  sneering  contempt — the  pallor  leaves 
Dimitri's  face,  and  this  Tartar  torturer  blushes.  Under  her 
blue,  scornful  eyes  his  droop  for  a  moment,  with  something 
nearer  shame  than  Menchikoff  has  ever  felt  before  in  his 
cruel  life. 

He  mutters  :  "  Prison  discipline  must  be  preserved  ! 
Even  a  fool  or  a  woman  might  know  that !  When  I 
come  back,  mademoiselle  la  comtesse,  I'll  assist  at  your 
education.  Adieu!  —  Good-by,  my  uncle!  —  Au  revoir, 
Monsieur  de  Verney  !  "  And,  suddenly  and  imperiously 
clapping  his  great  hand  on  the  Hebrew's  shoulder — 
"  Herr  Zamaroff,  I  wish  to  see  you  !  " 

At  this,  the  financier  utters  so  plaintive  a  little  shriek 
of  terror,  that  all  of  them,  even  Dimitri  himself,  burst 
into  a  laugh,  and  some  people  at  the  next  table  to 
them  hear  it  and  look  round  ;  for  all  this  time  the  supper 
is  going  on  bravely  and  the  champagne  is  flowing  merrily. 
Kharkoff  is  hundreds  of  miles  away,  and  no  one  in  the 
room  but  Dimitri  as  yet  knows  of  the  assassination. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  !  "  laughs  the  Tartar,  running  his 
hands  through  the  curls  and  petting  the  financier,  who 
has  a  cold  perspiration  on  his  forehead,  as  a  lion  might 
caress  a  little  lamb.  "  You  would  not  hurt  any  one  ;  you 
are  only  dangerous  to  our  pockets.  I  only  wanted  a  loan 
from  you  ;  I  leave  to-night  in  a  hurry.  Have  you  a  thou- 
sand roubles  about  you,  that  you'll  trust  to  me  till  my 
return  ? " 

"  I'll — I'll  give  'em  to  you,  if  you  never  come  back  !  " 
cries  Zamaroff,  eagerly  producing  and  shoving  some 
bank-notes  into  Prince  Menchikoff 's  hand.  "  Good-by  ! 
If  you  die,  I  won't  sue  your  estate  !  " 


250  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Hardly  waiting  for  his  creditor's  words,  Dimitri  shoves 
the  money  into  his  pocket  and  hastily  strides  from  the 
room,  pausing  in  his  hurry,  however,  to  say  a  few  words 
of  adieu  to  his  hostess  ;  for  the  Prince  Menchikoff  was 
scrupulously  polite. 

A  few  moments  after  this,  Ora  begs  Monsieur  de  Ver- 
ney  to  excuse  her.  She  will  go  to  her  room.  She  is 
indisposed. 

1  You  live  here,  Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin  ? "  asks 
Maurice,  in  some  astonishment. 

"  Yes.  Mrs.  Johnston's  lease  of  this,  my  town  house, 
does  not  expire  till  next  summer.  She  was  so  kind  as  to 
ask  me  to  be  her  guest,  and  make  my  appearance  in 
society  from  the  home  of  the  Lapuschkins,"  replies  the 
girl.  Then  she  concludes,  rather  haughtily  :  "  No,  thank 
you  !  my  guardian  will  take  me  from  the  supper-room. 
Good-night,  Monsieur  de  Verney !  "  for  Maurice  has 
sprung  up  and  offered  his  arm. 

He  watches  her  as  she  bids  Mrs.  Johnston  good-even- 
ing, and  notes  that  Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin's  face  has 
again  the  same  pathetic  look  upon  it  as  when  she  heard 
her  cousin's  voice  earlier  in  the  evening. 

Knowing  Mrs.  S.  Wetmore  Johnston's  powers  of  per- 
ception, and  that  Ora  has  been  nearly  three  months  her 
guest,  he  walks  up  to  that  lady — who  is  in  a  magnificent 
French  toilet  and  a  very  good  temper  ;  for  her  ball,  being 
attended  by  many  of  the  magnates  of  St.  Petersburg 
society,  is  a  great  success — and,  as  he  makes  his  adieux, 
mentions  Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin  as  an  old  friend 
of  his,  and  tells  of  their  unexpected  meeting. 

"An  old  friend  !  that's  lovely,  Monsieur  de  Verney  !  " 
cries  the  lady.  "  Ora  is  the  success  of  this  winter,  and  I 
am  at  present  her  chaperon.  That's  glory  enough  for 
me.  Drop  in  and  see  us  often  !  I  receive  a  I'americaine 
— informally.  So  you  won't  be  troubled  by  my  chapero- 
nage.  The  girl's  got  the  blues,  somehow,  lately  ;  and 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  251 

there's  nothing  so  good  for  that  as  a  flirtation.  I  know 
that.  Come,  and  I'll  prescribe  you  for  mademoiselle  la 
comtesse." 

"  Perhaps  the  prescription  will  be  fatal  to  me,"  mur- 
murs Maurice  with  a  smile,  delighted  at  this  easy  chance 
of  seeing  Ora  without  the  formalities  attending  Russian 
social  life. 

"  Oh,  I'll  risk  you  !  "  says  the  fair  Sallie,  complacently. 
"  Besides,  there  are  worse  fates  than  being  caught  on 
Ora  Lapuschkin's  hook.  The  fishes  are  playing  very 
lively  now  about  it,  I  can  tell  you.  But  excuse  me  ! 
General  Gourko  is  just  coming  to  say  good-night  to  me. 
Au  revoir  !  and  come  soon." 

So  Maurice  leaves  her  hospitable  house,  and  comes 
down  the  great  stairs  to  the  wide  street,  where  great  fires 
have  been  lighted  on  the  snow  to  keep  the  ishvoshtniks 
warm,  this  February  night  being  bitter  cold. 

Furred  to  their  ears  and  caftaned  to  their  feet,  these 
hackmen  of  St.  Petersburg  are  grouped  about  in  pictur- 
esque attitudes,  some  warming  themselves  near  the  fires, 
others  asleep  in  their  sleighs,  save  those  who  are  driving  to 
the  great  entrance  to  pick  up  the  guests  leaving  the  ball. 

De  Verney  calls  his  driver,  and  as  he  gets  in,  says  :  "  I 
suppose  it's  all  right  to  light  up?"  producing,  with  the 
words,  a  cigar. 

"  Yes,  your  nobility,"  returns  the  man.  "We  don't 
pass  any  of  the  great  bridges."  For  the  edicts  against 
smoking  in  the  streets  were  once  very  stringent  in  St. 
Petersburg,  though  now  somewhat  relaxed. 

Thus  assured,  Maurice  smokes  as  he  is  driven  to  his 
apartments  on  the  Sergievskaia,  and  turns  over  in  his 
mind  two  problems.  One  is  :  Why  did  Ora  Lapuschkin 
treat  him  so  warmly  when  she  first  met  him — so  coldly 
afterward  ?  This  he  is  unable  to  determine,  though  it 
does  not  make  him  very  downcast ;  for  de  Verney  knows 
the  fair  sex  very  well,  and  reasons,  philosophically,  "  that 


252  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

no  woman  ever  loves  a  man  so  well  that  sometimes  she  is 
not  angry  at  him — and  anything  rather  than  indifference!" 
The  second  is :  Why  her  sudden  and  incomprehensible 
moments  of  sadness  ?  He  knows  the  girl  despises  Dimi- 
tri,  and  that  she  will  never  marry  him,  if  Ora  Lapuschkin 
is  the  woman  he  thinks  she  is.  Is  it  money  ?  Has  her 
guardian  be.en  robbing  her  ? 

The  drive^  to  the  Sergievskaia  is  a  short  one,  and 
his  problem  is  still  an  enigma  to  him  as  he  dismisses  his 
sleigh  and  goes  up  to  his  room.  Over  it  he  ponders, 
until  finally  muttering  to  himself,  "  That  girl  has  a  skel- 
eton in  her  closet,  but  there's  a  key,  and  I'll  have  it  ;  for 
'  Here  he  leaves  off  problematic  possibilities  ;  and, 
thinking  of  the  beauty  and  charms  of  the  noble  creature 
he  has  gazed  upon  this  night,  Maurice  de  Verney  cries 
out  to  himself  :  "  How  blessed  it  is  to  be  a  bachelor,  for 
then — you  can  get  married  !  "  and  with  this  goes  to  bed, 
and  thinks  of  Ora  Lapuschkin  again. 

As  for  the  girl,  dismissing  Vassilissa,  who  acts  as  her 
maid,  she  has  torn  off  her  ball-dress,  thrown  it  on  the  bed 
in  careless  misery,  recklessly  tossed  her  jewels  here, 
there,  and  everywhere,  and  in  her  luxurious  chamber  of 
that  great  palace  now  paces  the  floor,  moving  her  hands 
every  few  moments  in  those  little,  nervous  wringings 
peculiar  to  despair. 

Sleigh  after  sleigh  can  be  heard  to  drive  away,  guest 
after  guest  to  depart  ;  the  lights  go  out  one  by  one  ;  the 
vast  house  becomes  silent — but  she  still  walks  on,  mutter- 
ing to  herself.  At  last,  her  eyes  chancing  to  light  on  a 
letter  in  the  German  handwriting  of  her  former  gover- 
ness, she  gives  an  awful  shudder,  and  whispers  to  her 
beautiful  image  one  of  the  long  mirrors  of  the  room 
reflects  back  to  her  : 

"  Fool  that  you  were  to  dream  love's  dream  for  one 
single  happy  second  !  The  man  will  be  cursed  who  loves 
you — cursed  by  your  unhappy  fate  !  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  253 

And,  thus  scoffing  herself,  she  throws  her  noble  form 
groveling  on  her  bed,  crushing  the  gauze  and  laces  of 
her  ball-dress,  and  writhing  and  moaning  in  such  agony  as 
can  only  come  when  despair  has  driven  out  hope,  and 
the  gates  of  Hades  are  opening,  and  the  portals  of  Para- 
dise are  shut  and  locked. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IF  I  FIND  A  WAY  FROM  RUSSIA  ? 

Two  days  after  this  de  Verney  calls  upon  Mrs.  S. 
Wetmore  Johnston  and  her  guest  at  Ora's  town  house. 
As  he  drives  up  to  the  great  detached  building  on  the 
Frontanka  Canal,  now  covered  with  ice,  near  the  Pante- 
leimon  bridge,  and  notes  its  long  facade,  roomy  carriage 
entrance,  and  all  the  space  about  it,  he  knows  that  it  can 
hardly  be  any  money  trouble  that  affects  the  girl  ;  this 
palace  alone  is  worth  a  fortune,  situated  as  it  is  in  the 
fashionable  quarter  of  St.  Petersburg,  where  land  is  very 
high. 

For  he  has  thought  a  great  deal  about  Mademoiselle 
Lapuschkin  since  the  night  he  met  her,  and  made  a  very 
quiet,  cautious,  and  casual  investigation  as  regards  the 
relations  that  the  girl  bears  to  her  relatives  and  the  world 
in  general,  pumping  among  others  young  Beresford,  who 
has  called  upon  him  from  the  British  legation  the  day 
after  his  introduction. 

That  little  gentleman  is  very  full  of  talk,  and  runs  on 
at  a  great  rate  about  the  success  the  countess  is  in  St. 
Petersburg  society  ;  remarking,  "  Ora  may  suit  the 
general  run  :  as  for  me,  she's  too  innocent.  But  you 
should  see  her  aunt,  who  was  here  from  Tula  a  few  weeks 
ago — the  Princess  Platoff.  There's  a  banger  for  you  ! 
A  little  more  mature,  of  course,  but  so  bringing  !  so 
fetching  !  so  staying  !  so  everything  !  don't  yer  see  ?  As 
a  diplomat,  she'd  suit  you  to  a  protocol." 

"  Indeed  !  "  smiles  de  Verney,  "  and  why  ?  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  255 

"  Because — humph—  she — awh — suited  me.  And 
we're  both  diplomatists,  don't  yer  know  ?  " 

But  though  Cuthbert  can  tell  all  about  Ora's  social 
triumphs,  Maurice  soon  discovers  that  neither  he  nor 
any  one  else  he  talks  to  can  tell  very  much  more,  save 
that  the  young  countess  was  educated  at  her  country 
place  in  Tula,  and  three  months  ago  burst  like  a  sun  on 
Russian  society  ;  consequently  de  Verney  is  compelled  to 
investigate  in  person. 

It  is  partly  with  this  idea  that  he  calls  so  soon  after  the 
entertainment,  though  he  has  been  longing  for  the  young 
lady's  beautiful  face  ever  since  he  last  saw  it,  and  has 
been  all  eyes  on  the  two  intervening  afternoons  on  which 
he  has  driven  up  and  down  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt,  hoping 
to  see  Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin  at  shopping  or  some 
other  feminine  amusement  that  will  call  her  to  this  great 
promenade. 

He  is  ushered  into  a  reception  room,  and  at  first  dis- 
appointed. His  American  hostess  comes  sweeping  in, 
and  after  the  usual  salutation  says  :  "  I'm  awfully  sorry, 
but  Ora  begs  me  to  tender  her  excuses  to  you.  She  has 
one  of  her  spells." 

"  Indeed  !  What  may  that  be  ? "  asks  de  Verney,  who 
is  unacquainted  with  this  peculiar  use  of  the  word. 

"  Oh  !  blues,  hysteria,  headache,  tantrums — any  ill 
that's  particularly  feminine,  we  call  spells  in  America," 
says  Madame  Sallie.  "I  believe  I've  got  a  little  one 
myself,"  and  she  wipes  a  surreptitious  tear  out  of  her 
eyes.  In  truth,  the  poor  woman  has  been  weeping  all 
morning  ;  her  divorced  husband,  who  is  not  a  man  of 
great  delicacy,  having  just  taken  another  bride,  and  with 
considerate  kindness  sent  her  his  wedding  cards. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,"  remarks  Maurice.  "But 
what  particular  spell  possesses  Mademoiselle  Lapusch- 
kin?" 

"  That's  what  I  can't  guess  !      When  Ora  has  one — 


256  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

they  come  quite  frequently  now — she  locks  herself  up. 
Vassilissa,  her  foster-sister,  says  her  cheeks  blush  as  if 
with  a  fever  ;  and  Katie,  my  maid,  informs  me  that  she's 
seen  her  wring  her  hands,  as  if  she  were  at  camp-meet- 
ing. Katie  is  a  wonderful  observer,  and  up  to  every- 
thing going  on  in  the  house.  In  Chicago  she  could  tell 
me  every  morning,  to  a  minute,  when  my — my  late  hus- 
band inserted  his  latch — latch-key  in  the  lock,  when  he 
was  out  late  at — at  night !  " 

"  Ah  !  your  late  husband  !  Permit  me  to  offer  my  con- 
dolences," says  de  Verney,  in  that  hollow  voice  which 
comes  to  men  when  they  see  a  woman  in  distress  ;  for 
this  mention  of  the  recreant  Johnston  has  been  too  much 
for  the  divorced  Sally,  and  she  has  now  a  tear  in  each  of 
her  eyes.  "  I  had  supposed  him  dead  long  ago,"  con- 
tinues Maurice,  looking  at  this  supposed  widow's  very 
gay  dress,  and  remembering  her  magnificent  ball. 

"My  husband  is  not  dead,"  mutters  the  lady,  blush- 
ing deeply. 

"  Not  dead  ? "  echoes  the  chevalier. 

"  No  !  he's  w-w-w-worse  !  "  and  Mrs.  Johnston  gives 
two  little  sobs,  as  de  Verney  gazes  in  astonishment  at 
her. 

At  this  moment  a  radiant  vision  comes  into  the  room, 
says,  "  Good-afternoon,  Monsieur  de  Verney ! "  and 
drives  all  thoughts  of  Mrs.  Johnston's  woes  out  of  his 
head. 

It  is  Ora  Lapuschkin,  who  has  just  been  fighting  a 
great  battle  with  herself,  and  lost  it. 

She  has  said  to  herself :  "  I  will  never  see  this  man 
again.  If  he  loves  me,  I  shall  only  engulf  him  in  my  in- 
evitable fate  ;  that  would  be  cruel,  horrible,  dastardly  ! — 
If  he  loves  me  ?  "  Then,  wanting  to  look  on  him  very 
much,  she  has  laughed  at  herself,  and  cried  :  "  Vain  one 
— IF  he  loves  you  ?  Have  a  few  social  triumphs  turned 
your  conceited  head  ?  Faugh  !  Monsieur  de  Verney  is 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  257 

too  much  of  a  veteran  not  to  protect  his  heart  from  my 
allurements.  If  he  could  give  up  Mademoiselle  de  Brian 
for  her  lack  of  dot,  he'd  hardly  risk  his  liberty  for  any  one 
else.  Besides,  I  know  my  duty,  and  shall  do  it.  What 
harm  is  a  little  friendship — a  few  short,  happy  hours — 
before  THE  END  !  I'll  see  him,  if  only  to  prove  my 
strength." 

As  if  in  contradiction  to  these  thoughts,  she  makes  a 
toilet  that  would  charm  St.  Anthony  himself  ;  for  Ora 
Lapuschkin  is  a  true  woman,  and  would  not  for  the 
world  look  aught  but  beautiful  to  the  eyes  of  a  man  she 
loved  when  a  little  girl,  and  is  now,  though  she  drives 
such  thoughts  away,  going  to  love,  in  spite  of  herself,  with 
all  her  heart  and  all  her  soul. 

Therefore,  she  now  stands  before  de  Verney,  more 
lovely  in  the  sunlight  of  the  day  than  she  was  in  the  gas- 
light of  the  night.  She  is  still  robed  all  in  white,  but  it 
is  some  fleecy,  clinging  stuff,  that  twists  about  her  figure, 
and  would  make  her  look  like  a  statue,  but  that  her 
cheeks  have  two  little  blushes  upon  them,  and  her  eyes 
are  unnaturally  bright. 

She  dashes  into  the  conversation  in  an  almost  electric 
manner  ;  asks  Maurice  how  he  likes  Russian  society, 
talks  of  sleigh-rides  on  the  Neva,  balls,  parties,  receptions, 
and  mentions  that  she  is  going  to  a  dance  that  evening, 
given  by  the  officers  of  the  Guards,  to  which  de  Verney 
suddenly  remembers  he  has  a  card,  and  demands  the 
cotillion  from  her  in  an  assured  manner  that  astonishes 
her,  for  her  favors  have  been  usually  sued  for,  not  com- 
manded. 

This  Maurice  has  done  deliberately.  He  knows  she 
is  very  much  sought  after,  and  argues  that  variety  is 
pleasing  to  woman.  She  looks  at  his  eager  eyes,  and  is 
about  to  say  "  Yes  ; "  then,  remembering  her  promise  to 
herself,  is  about  to  mutter  "  No  !  "  when  Mrs.  Johnston, 
who  is  American,  and  does  not  fear  to  leave  a  young  lady 


258  THAT   FRENCHMAN  ! 

alone  with  a  gentleman  in  her  own  house,  rises,  and 
says  :  "  Monsieur  de  Verney,  why  not  take  dinner  here  ; 
then  go  to  the  ball  with  us  ? " 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  !  "  cries  Maurice,  jumping  at  the 
chance. 

"  Very  well.  Prince  Platoff  will  be  here  also,  and  we 
dine  at  half-past  seven.  Don't  forget.  You  won't  mind 
my  leaving  you  for  a  few  moments,  since  Ora  is  here  ? " 
With  this,  after  the  manner  of  her  country,  she  walks 
placidly  out,  leaving  de  Verney  tete-a-tete  with  the  girl. 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Johnston  accepted  my  request  for  your 
partnership  in  the  cotillion,"  remarks  de  Verney,  who  has 
half  guessed  Ora  intended  to  refuse  him. 

"  Indeed  !  "  returns  the  young  lady  with  a  little  laugh. 
"  Is  my  hand  for  that  dance  included  in  Madame  Sallie's 
menu  ?  " 

"Yes — in  the  dessert.  You're  one  of  the  bonbons," 
says  Maurice.  "  In  fact,  as  your  escort  to  the  ball,  the 
cotillion  is  my  right ;  and  in  your  case " — he  is  very 
earnest  now — "  I  shall  ever  claim  all  my  rights — those 
of  this  week — that  more  sacred  one  of  ten  years  ago. 
You  remember  ? " 

The  girl  looks  at  his  face  ;  his  eyes  catch  hers,  and  tell 
her  something  that  makes  her  tender.  Her  lip  trembles. 
Then  she  suddenly  recovers  herself,  and  laughingly  cries  : 
"  I'll — I'll  compromise  on  the  cotillion  for  this  evening." 
•  Having  made  his  first  point,  Maurice  de  Verney  is  too 
subtle  a  strategist  to  attempt  another,  just  at  present. 
After  a  few  more  words,  he  makes  his  adieux,  returns  to 
dinner  that  evening,  and  at  the  ball  of  the  Guard  dances 
the  cotillion  with  this  young  lady,  whose  heart  has  now 
got  the  upper  hand  of  her  will ;  for,  from  this  time  on, 
Ora  Lapuschkin  gives  herself  up  to  a  short,  wild  dream 
of  happiness,  knowing  that  it  will  be  a  dream  from  which 
her  waking  will  be  all  the  more  awful  for  her  present 
joy. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  259 

While  this  man  and  woman  have  been  growing  to 
love  each  other,  political  and  police  matters  in  Russia 
have  gone  from  bad  to  worse.  Late  in  March  General 
Drentelin,  the  chief  of  the  secret  police,  is  shot  at  on  the 
Neva  Quay,  and  police  spies  are  killed  as  if  they  were 
flies.  And  then  one  April  day,  the  Monday  after  Easter, 
St.  Petersburg  got  a  shock  ;  the  terrorists  have  made 
their  first  great  attempt. 

Placing  poison  capsules  in  his  mouth  to  insure  his  own 
escape  from  the  police,  Solovieff  has  fired  five  pistol  shots 
at  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias  in  the  open  street.  None 
of  the  bullets  strike  the  sovereign,  and  the  poison  does 
not  kill  the  nihilist,  though  the  hangman  shortly  after 
does. 

Convinced  now  that  his  own  life  is  in  danger,  Alexan- 
der turns  upon  his  foes,  and,  to  protect  himself,  issues 
such  police  regulations  as  no  other  sovereign  did,  in  time 
of  peace,  since  the  world  began. 

General  Gourko  is  appointed  military  governor  of  the 
capital ;  civil  law  ceases  ;  and  the  celebrated  order  making 
all  dvorniks  (house  porters)  compulsory  spies,  to  report  the 
goings  out  and  the  comings  in  of  all  who  live  under  their 
roofs,  is  issued. 

This  attempt  also  brings  Dimitri  Menchikoff  back  from 
Kharkoff  ;  for  the  government  is  filling  the  capital  with 
police  spies,  and  being  desperately  afraid  of  its  own 
people — nihilism  having  so  permeated  Russia — has 
quietly  brought  over  from  Paris  a  number  of  French 
mouchards,  among  them,  curiously  enough,  Regnier  and 
Microbe,  who  have  been  lured  from  the  police  force  of 
their  native  country  by  the  high  wages  offered  by  the 
emissaries  of  the  Czar. 

So  a  friend  and  an  enemy  to  Maurice  de  Verney  come 
near  to  him  at  St.  Petersburg  ;  for  Dimitri  soon  grows  to 
hate  the  chevalier  cordially,  as  he  notes  the  glances  the 
audacious  Frenchman  dares  to  cast  upon  what  he  has  set 


260  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

apart  for  himself.  Le  Prince  Menchikoff  has  been 
watching  the  wondrous  beauty  of  his  cousin.  He  already 
knows  her  great  wealth,  and  now  imagines  he  is  strong 
enough  with  his  government  and  Czar  to  claim  the  fulfill- 
ment of  the  marriage  contract  of  their  childhood,  and, 
despite  her  tears  or  entreaties  or  haughty  disdain,  to  win 
and  wear  Ora  Lapuschkin,  willing  or  unwilling,  in  the 
Eastern  Tartar  fashion,  his  ancestors,  two  centuries 
before,  compelled  the  beauties  of  the  Ukraine  to  their 
nuptial  feasts  and  vows. 

Evidences  of  his  demands  soon  appear  on  the  girl's 
face.  De  Verney  notes  that  her  eyes  have  at  times  a 
desperate  look,  but  never  guesses  the  reason;  for  he  knows 
the  woman  he  is  in  love  with  has  too  much  spirit  to  wed 
even  the  Czar  himself  did  she  not  love  him  ;  and  her 
heart,  he  fondly  thinks,  is  his :  her  eyes  have  said  it,  even 
if  her  voice  has  not. 

He  devotes  himself  to  the  discovery  of  this  secret 
trouble  of  Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose gains  the  faith  and  trust  of  her  foster-sister,  Vassi- 
lissa  ;  but  the  sturdy  peasant  girl  can  tell  him  nothing, 
save  that  her  loved  mistress  is  unhappy.  He  cultivates 
Prince  Platoff,  also  Dimitri  himself,  and  to  these  con- 
firmed gamblers  loses  some  thousands  of  roubles  at  the 
tables  of  the  Imperial  Yacht  Club — and  still  knows  no  more. 

So  the  days  run  into  May  ;  and  winter,  with  its  snow 
and  ice,  changes  to  early  spring  even  in  this  north- 
ern capital.  Carriages  take  the  place  of  sleighs  on  the 
streets,  the  beautiful  islands  of  the  Neva  grow  green 
with  springing  grasses  and  budding  trees,  until  one  day 
the  river  ice,  with  a  grand  noise  and  crash,  breaks  up, 
and  floats  out  in  great  cakes  to  the  Baltic,  leaving  the 
city  cut  in  two  by  a  noble  stream  of  rushing,  clear  blue 
water — the  Neva  that  the  Russians  love  and  fear  !  for  it 
makes  much  of  the  beauty  of  their  capital ;  and  some  day, 
when  the  wind  is  right  and  a  high  tide  and  breaking  ice 


THAT   FRENCHMAN  !  261 

come  all  together,  it  may  destroy  it.  Twice  it  has  nearly 
done  so,  and  some  time  it  may  succeed. 

Just  at  the  end  of  this  month  of  May,  Maurice  de 
Verney  gets  the  first  little  inkling  of  the  terrible  position 
in  which  the  woman  he  loves  is  placed  ;  it  is  the  merest 
suspicion,  but  gives  him  an  awful  shock.  Afterward, 
to  his  inquiring,  evidences  come  more  rapidly  and  more 
certainly. 

Chancing  one  night  at  the  Imperial  Yacht  Club  to  be 
playing,  as  was  his  habit,  with  the  Princes  Platoff  and 
Menchikoff,  and  the  game  running  against  Dimitri,  this 
latter  gentleman,  losing  his  temper,  cries  :  "  You  have 
the  best  of  me  to-night  at  this  game,  Sergius  ;  but  next 
month  you'll  have  to  borrow  more  money  from  Herr 
Zamaroff,  who,  I  hear,  has  become  your  banker." 

"  Indeed  !  And  why  next  month  ?  "  lisps  Platoff,  with 
a  rather  peculiar  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Next  month  I  marry  ! "  says  Dimitri,  pointedly ;  "  and 
executors  account  to  the  husband." 

"  You  are  certain — you  will  not  be  refused  ? "  returns 
Sergius,  smiling,  though  the  grin  shows  his  teeth  and  is 
something  like  a  snarl. 

"  Sure  !  She  dare  not  refuse  !  By  St.  Valdimer,  she 
dare  not  refuse  ME  ! "  And  he  laughs  back  in  old  Pla- 
toff  s  face.  Next,  says  :  "  By  that  time  I  presume  you 
will  be  going  back  to  France,  Monsieur  de  Verney  ?  " 
And  with  this  parting  salute  to  both  his  opponents,  the 
imperial  guardsman  and  sous-prefect  of  the  secret  police 
slouches  out  of  the  card-room. 

"That  was  a  little  shot  at  you,  my  dear  chevalier," 
sneers  Sergius,  though  Maurice  notices  that  his  lips  have 
grown  pallid  and  gray  with  some  hidden  fear. 

De  Verney  does  not  reply  to  this  ;  he  is  thinking,  Why 
did  Dimitri  say  she  dared  not  refuse  him  ?  If  he  has 
guessed  the  courage  of  Ora  Lapuschkin  aright,  he  knows 
she  would  dare  anything  rather  than  marry  a  man  that 


262  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

each  day  she  despises  more  and  more  ;  for  Dimitri 
Menchikoff  has  brought  a  very  bad  reputation  back  with 
him  from  Kharkoff,  where  some  hundreds  of  prisoners 
have  somehow  died  of  privation  in  the  Central  prison 
there,  during  his  last  visit. 

Meditating  on  this  he  strolls  to  his  apartments  on  the 
Sergievskaia,  and  there  chances  to  meet  young  Beresford, 
who  has  dropped  into  his  rooms  for  a  chat. 

Maurice  is  rather  pleased  to  see  him,  as  he  likes  the 
little  Englishman  very  well,  though  he  is  not  impressed 
by  his  intellect.  Their  conversation  drifts  along  on  one 
thing  or  another,  Mr.  Beresford,  with  English  candor, 
expressing  himself  on  the  beastliness  of  the  present  police 
regulations,  and  particularly  damning  one  order  of  Gen- 
eral Gourko,  the  military  satrap  who  at  this  moment 
holds  St.  Petersburg  in  his  iron  grasp. 

He  says :  "  Look  at  that  cursed  edict  that  forbids 
man,  woman,  or  child  to  be  out  after  nine  o'clock  at 
night,  without  a  permit  stating  where  they  are  going  and 
what  they're  doing,  don't  yer  know  !  Of  course  it  does 
not  matter  to  us  diplomats,  who  can  get  general  permits 
by  the  asking,  don't  yer  see — but  it  must  be  cursed  disa- 
greeable for  the  Russians,  I  should  think.  I  wonder  if 
Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin  had  one  the  other  night  ?  " 

Here  de  Verney,  who  has  been  listening  to  him  in  a 
dreamy  way,  suddenly  wakes  up  and  asks :  "  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  was  out  after  that  time — eleven  o'clock,  I 
should  think— and  they'd  have  taken  her  in,  if  she 
hadn't  a  permit.  Of  course,  two  minutes'  explanation  at 
the  police-station  would  have  settled  the  matter  ;  but  it 
would  have  been  deuced  unpleasant  for  a  young  lady, 
don't  yer  know  !  " 

"  Of  course  mademoiselle  was  with  some  friends  ?  " 

"  No — that's  the  funny  part  of  it  !  " 

"You  must  be  mistaken,"  says  the  chevalier  shortly. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  263 

"  Not  at  all  ;  she  was  just  going  into  her  own  house. 
She  was  heavily  wrapped,  of  course,  and  was  let  in  the 
side  entrance,  the  dvornik  being  asleep  at  the  main  one." 

"  Pooh !  your  idea  is  absurd.  It  must  have  been 
one  of  the  servant-girls,"  remarks  Maurice,  biting  his 
lips. 

"  The  idea  may  be  absurd  ;  but  my  eyesight  is  first- 
class — and " 

"  And  I  hope  you'll  not  repeat  your  incredible  tale  to 
any  one  else.  People  might  even  think  ill  of  her  !  " 
interrupts  de  Verney,  sternly  and  suddenly. 

"  Not  I,  by  Jove  !  Every  one  respects  the  young 
countess — nobody  more  than  I,  don't  yer  know  !  " 
returns  Beresford. 

"  Then,  as  a  favor  to  me,  mention  this  to  no  one  else, 
will  you  ?  "  asks  Maurice. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  fellow — and  I'll  take  a  little  more 
of  that  eau-de-vie  of  yours.  By  Jove  !  how  your  hand 
is  trembling  !  and  I  never  guessed  you  had  nerves  before. 
These  Russians  are  too  hard-headed  for  you  at  the  yacht 
club  ;  they'll  drink  you  to  death,"  says  Beresford,  com- 
passionately ;  for  de  Verney's  hand  has  shaken  a  little  as 
he  has  passed  Cuthbert  the  brandy. 

The  next  day  Maurice  calls  at  Mrs.  Johnston's,  and, 
the  ladies  not  being  at  home,  gets  an  opportunity  to  see 
Vassilissa  in  private.  This  girl,  he  knows,  adores  her  mis- 
tress and  foster-sister.  Looking  straight  at  her  faithful 
peasant  face,  and  knowing  he  can  trust  her,  he  comes 
straight  to  his  point. 

"Vassilissa,"  he  says,  rather  carelessly,  "why  does  not 
Mademoiselle  Ora  take  you  with  her  when  she  goes  out 
at  night  ? " 

At  this,  the  woman's  face  gives  such  a  twinge  and 
grows  so  pallid  that  he  knows  Beresford 's  eyes  have  not 
deceived  him. 

Being  sure  of  his  game,  he  now  goes  on :  "  Do  you 


264  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

think  I'll  look  calmly  on  when  she  is  in  danger  of 
arrest  ?  for — for  I  love  her  !  " 

He  gets  no  farther ;  for  here  Vassilissa  gives  a  short 
cry,  comes  straight  up  to  him,  and  gasps,  under  her 
breath  :  "  You  love  her  ? — Swear  to  me  by  the  seven  sac- 
raments of  our  holy  Russian  Church  that  you  love  her  ! 
Swear  it !  "  and  seizing  his  arm  she  looks  at  him  with  all 
her  honest  face. 

"  I  love  her  !  I  swear  it,  by  the  Redeemer  of  us 
both  !  "  cries  Maurice. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you — you  should  be  true  to  her — 
for  " — here  she  gives  Maurice,  in  all  the  doubt  and 
uncertainty  of  that  awful  time,  a  mighty  joy — "for  I 
think  she  loves  you  !  and,  God  help  her  !  I  fear  she 
needs  every  friend  !  This  is  all  I  know  for  certain  :  my 
mistress  is  in  some  fearful  trouble,  something  that  keeps 
her  from  sleeping,  something  she  tries  to  throw  off,  but 
will  come  back  to  her.  As  you  say,  she  did  go  out  the 
other  night,  for  three  hours.  I  don't  know  why.  I  only 
fear  it  is  something  that  might  make  her  like  the  two 
daughters  of — you  know  who  I  mean — that  high  minis- 
ter whose  children,  two  girls,  were  stolen  out  of  his  house 
at  night  by  the  police  three  weeks  ago  ;  and,  though  he 
is  in  despair,  and  his  wife  has  gone  insane,  they'll  never 
see  them  again.  Mind  you,  I  don't  know;  because  if  I  try 
to  follow  her,  or  speak  of  this  to  mortal  soul — how  I  let 
her  in  at  the  side  entrance,  unknown  to  the  dvornik,  who 
must  report  every  going  in  and  coming  out— she  says  I'll 
be  sent  away  from  her.  But  I  fear  this,  for  Ora  dared 
not  ask  for  a  permit,  and  went  without  a  passport. 
For  the  love  of  Heaven  don't  tell  her,  or  she,  whom  I 
love  as  a  slave  and  as  a  sister,  '11  never  forgive  me — I 
who  have  betrayed  her  to  protect  her ! — Save  her  ! — Save 
her  from  herself  ! — Save  her  from  the  fate  of  all  who  are 
arrested,  these  cruel  days  !  Ah  !  now  I  know  you  love  her 
and  will  serve  her  !  "  for,  as  this  woman  has  gasped  and 


THAT   FRENCHMAN  !  265 

sighed  this  out  to  this  man,  something  has  come  into  his 
face  that  means  that  if  Ora  Lapuschkin  goes  down  in  this 
fight  between  fanatics  and  despot,  Maurice  de  Verney 
will  fall  by  her  side. 

Then,  Vassilissa  going  away  after  he  has  asked  her  a 
few  more  questions,  he  sits  down  to  await  the  coming 
of  the  ladies,  and  thinks  the  affair  over,  knowing  that 
anything  he  does  must  be  done  quickly — to  be  suc- 
cessful. 

The  two  ladies  come  in  from  some  gay  reception  ;  for 
the  government  has  ordered  the  newspapers  to  stop  all 
remarks  on  the  attempt  on  the  Czar,  and  it  has  been 
hinted  officially  that  those  who  look  happiest  will  be  con- 
sidered the  most  loyal.  So,  with  this  pestilence  of  the 
police  upon  it,  when  no  one  knows  what  day  may  bring 
him  to  despair,  by  loved  ones  silently  departed — to  prison, 
Siberia,  the  mines,  or  the  executioner — for  this  affair  is 
very  silent,  only,  as  in  the  plague,  each  day  some  people 
disappear  without  notice  or  commotion  ;  St.  Petersburg 
is,  on  its  surface,  merry  and  laughing,  and  its  balls, 
and  theaters,  and  routs  as  many  and  well  attended,  and 
the  champagne  flows  as  merrily  and  the  laugh  is  as  loud, 
as  if  the  land  were  not  under  that  "  white  terror  "  of  the 
police,  which  is  more  awful  than  the  "  red  terror  "  of  the 
nihilist! 

After  a  few  words,  Mrs.  Johnston  gives  Maurice  a 
suggestion.  She  says  :  "  I'm  going  to  get  out  of  here  ; 
I'm  going  to  Paris." 

Neither  de  Verney  nor  Ora  asks  her  why  ;  but  after  a 
second  Maurice  suggests  suddenly  :  "  Why  don't  you  take 
Mademoiselle  Lapuschkin  with  you  ?  " 

The  girl,  who  has  come  in  quite  red  from  the  air — for 
June  breezes  are  bracing  in  St.  Petersburg — but  on  seeing 
de  Verney  has  grown  suddenly  pale,  now  flushes  up  with 
some  sudden  hope,  but  a  moment  after  becomes  pale 
again,  and  says  slowly  :  "  I  have  thought  of  that  before  ; 


266  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

but  I  do  not  think  you  will  be  able  to  obtain  for  me  per- 
mission from  the  government  to  leave  Russia.  You 
know  it  is  always  necessary  to  obtain  that ;  now,  more 
than  ever." 

"  Pish  !  "  cries  Sallie  ;  "  as  if  they  dared  refuse  one  of 
your  rank  ! " 

"  My  rank  will  perhaps  be  one  of  the  obstacles," 
remarks  Ora,  as  if  she  knew  there  was  little  or  no  hope. 

"  There's  nothing  like  trying,"  says  Maurice.  "  You'll 
take  charge  of  her,  won't  you,  dear  Mrs.  Johnston  ?  " 

"  With  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  !  "  cries  the  lady. 

"  Very  well,  I'll  make  out  the  application  ;  "  and  de 
Verney  sits  down  and  in  a  few  minutes  writes  the  neces- 
sary request.  "  Will  you  please  sign  that  ? "  he  says, 
presenting  the  paper  to  the  young  lady,  who  has  been 
abstractedly  drawing  off  her  gloves.  He  offers  her  the 
pen,  but  she  mutters,  "  What  use  ? " 

"  For  my  sake  !  "  whispers  Maurice,  with  both  tongue 
and  eyes. 

Without  a  word  she  takes  the  pen  he  holds  to  her,  and 
signs  her  name. 

"  I  shall  get  this  countersigned  by  your  guardian. 
You'll  have  the  permit  to-morrow  morning  ;  "  and  he 
turns  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  cries  the  girl  suddenly,  running 
after  him.  "  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so  !  "  says  de  Verney.     "  And  if  not  ?  " 

"  If  not — the  other  thing !  "  and  she  winces,  but 
smothers  her  emotion  by  a  curious  little  mocking  laugh  ; 
not  at  Maurice,  but  at  herself. 

De  Verney  himself  goes  hastily  away,  with  the  docu- 
ment in  his  hand,  and,  finding  Prince  Platoff  at  home, 
tells  him  his  niece's  wishes  and  asks  his  signature. 

"  Ah  !  you  want  to  get  her  away  from  Dimitri ;  but 
he'll  not  let  you,  my  poor  fellow  !  "  remarks  Sergius ; 
"  though  I  don't  mind  putting  my  name  on  the  paper ; " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  267 

which  he  does,  and  Maurice  takes  it  up  to  the  £tat 
Major,  that  great  Russian  foreign  office  on  the  Admiralty 
square,  and  leaves  it  with  the  proper  official. 

He  has  a  faint  hope  in  his  heart  that  the  necessary 
permission  may  be  granted  before  Prince  Menchikoff 
learns  of  his  cousin's  intended  departure ;  and  the  next 
morning  calls  to  see  if  such  is  the  case,  finding  Mrs. 
Johnston,  Ora,  and  Platoff  in  the  salon.  As  he  comes  in 
he  hears  the  American  lady  exclaiming  indignantly : 
"  This  is  a  pretty  country  to  live  in  !  Give  me  the  land 
of  the  free " 

The  "  free  "  dies  away  in  a  gurgle  ;  for  Sergius  has 
promptly  clapped  his  hand  over  her  mouth,  and  mut- 
tered, "  Excuse  me  !  but  do  you  want  us  all  to  sleep  in 
prison  ?  You  must  be  mad,  madame  !  " 

"  So  I  am  ! — it's  an  outrage  !  "  and  Mrs.  Johnston  tells 
Maurice  that  Ora's  application  for  passports  for  foreign 
travel  has  been  refused. 

"  Yes,  they  have  clipped  the  little  dove's  wings  ! 
They  will  not  let  her  travel,  my  poor  chevalier,  till  she 
is  Madame  Dimitri,"  murmurs  Platoff  ;  for  this  wily  old 
gentleman  rather  guesses  what  kind  of  a  feeling  there  is 
between  de  Verney  and  his  niece,  and  is  now  trying  with 
all  his  subtle  power  to  make  Ora  desperate. 

Looking  at  his  beautiful  niece,  as  she  stands  there  in 
an  exquisite  morning-gown,  a  picture  of  pallid  beauty — 
for  the  girl  is  very  pale  this  morning,  and  would  look 
crushed  were  it  not  for  a  curious  wildness  in  her  eyes, 
that  blaze  like  blue  diamonds — Sergius  thinks  to  himself  : 
"  Another  little  spasm  of  despair,  and  she'll  be  ready 
to  do  the  deed  I  have  prepared  for  her  !  That  French- 
man, whose  gaze  always  makes  her  blush  and  tremble, 
is  the  fellow  to  do  the  business  for  me.  Gad  !  How 
handsome  and  mournful  he  looks  also  !  It's  a  pity ;  they'd 
make  a  pretty  couple  !  but  every  one  for  himself  in  this 
wicked  world  !  "  Then  this  cunning  old  sinner  contrives 


268  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

to  get  Mrs.  Johnston  from  the  room,  upon  a  plea  of  busi- 
ness with  himself,  concerning  the  lease  of  this  mansion 
that  she  is  about  to  give  up,  and  so  leaves  the  two  alone 
gazing  at  one  another. 

The  young  lady  is  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  "  I — 
I  presume  you'll  be  returning  to  France  soon,  Monsieur 
Mau — Maurice  ?  "  she  begins,  a  little  catch  in  her  voice, 
as  if  the  words  were  very  hard  to  utter.  "Your  diplo- 
matic mission  is,  I — I  believe,  finished." 

"  That  was  settled  a  month  ago,"  returns  de  Verney. 
Then  suddenly  coming  up  to  her,  he  says,  pointedly:  "  I 
shall  never  go  back  to  France  till  I  take  some  one  with 
me  !  "  and  would  seize  the  little  white  hand  she  raises  as 
if  to  warn  him  off. 

Somehow,  quick  as  he  is,  this  hand  eludes  him.  Red 
flies  into  her  face,  till  her  cheeks  are  as  if  they  were  rouged 
— only  much  more  lovely,  for  the  brush  of  nature  always 
excels  that  of  art.  Her  eyes,  that  were  flashing  so  desper- 
ately a  moment  before,  become  very  sad  and  drooping, 
and  Ora  Lapuschkin,  almost  like  a  frightened  child,  shrinks 
from  him. 

"  What— do  you — mean  ? — Please  let  my  hand  alone," 
she  utters  faintly;  for  de  Verney,  in  spite  of  her,  has  got 
possession  of  this  member  now,  and  does  not  let  it  go. 

"What  do  I  mean  ?  You  know  what  I  mean!  Don't 
eyes  speak,  as  well  as  lips  ?  What  have  mine  told  you  since 
that  night  when,  in  this  very  house,  I  first  saw  you  as  a 
woman  ? — that  I  loved  you  !  "  whispers  Maurice;  and,  ten- 
derness for  this  lovely  and  drooping  creature  filling  his 
soul,  he  would  take  her  to  his  heart. 

But  she  struggles  away  from  him  again;  and  now,  gaz- 
ing straight  at  him,  into  her  eyes  comes  a  noble  but  hope- 
less look  ;  and  she  would  strike  him  with  despair,  if  he 
would  but  let  her. 

She  cries:  "  Let  me  bear  my  doom  alone  !  Do  you 
think  I'll  let  you  go  down  with  me  ?  Don't  you  know 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  269 

that  you  are  daring  to  hope  for  a  slave  of  the  Czar, 
whom  he  has  set  apart  to  be  the  bride  of  his  faithful 
policeman,  the  Prince  Dimitri  Menchikoff  ?  " 

This  last  is  said  in  an  awful,  laughing  way,  as  if  she 
were  jeering  both  de  Verney  and  herself. 

"  I  know  that  Dimitri  wants  you  ;  but  I  want  you,  too — 
and  I'll  have  you  !  Give  yourself  to  me,  and  in  spite  of 
policeman  and  Czar  together,  by  Heaven  !  I'll  have  you  !  " 
mutters  Maurice  between  his  teeth  ;  and  would  seize 
upon  and  kiss  this  creature  of  his  adoration,  who  is  now 
half  within  his  arms  ;  for  her  words  have  called  into  his 
mind  a  picture  that  makes  him  as  desperate  as  she  is. 

But  she  breaks  from  him  and  cries  :  "  No  !  If  you 
kissed  me  you  might  feel  you  had  a  right  to  me  ;  and  in 
trying  to  save  me  " — here  she  comes  to  him  and  whispers 
in  his  ear — "  you  would  be  destroyed  yourself !  " 

"  I'll  risk  myself  for  you — give  me  the  right — I  love 
you  !  Do  you  love  me  ?  Dear  one,  answer  !  if  not  by 
words — by  looks — by  your  eyes — and  I'll  take  you  from 
this  infernal  country  !  " 

But  she  turns  her  face  away  from  his,  and  mutters: 
"  How  ?  You  are  mad  !  Without  a  passport  I  could  no 
more  leave  St.  Petersburg — than  I  could  fly  from  that 
awful  prison  over  there  !  "  And  pointing  toward  the  for- 
tress of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  some  new  thought  comes 
to  her,  and  she  shudders  and  shivers  as  if  she  felt  even 
now  the  breath  from  its  damp  cells  upon  her  limbs. 

"  I  know  every  station  is  guarded — and  passports  are 
demanded  at  every  police  office  on  the  route  ! — Yes,  by 
rail  impossible  !  "  whispers  de  Verney  ;  "  but  " — here  a 
sudden  hope  comes  to  him,  and  he  cries  joyously,  "  if  I 
find  a  way  from  Russia,  you  will  take  it  ? " 

"  Yes  !  "  gasps  the  girl.  And  she  gives  him  joy  in 
return  ;  for  she  says  :  "  If  I  leave  without  the  Czar's  sanc- 
tion, I  shall  lose  my  estates — and — have  nothing  !  " 

"  Nothing  but  yourself !  "  cries  Maurice.    "  That's  all — 


270  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

yourself  !  bride  of  my  heart !  Yourself,  Ora  !  "  and  would 
take  her  lips  as  proof  of  her  love.  But,  though  her  eyes 
are  full  of  tears,  again  determination  comes  to  this  poor 
creature,  battling  between  what  she  knows  is  her  love  and 
what  she  thinks  is  her  duty,  and  she  cries  to  him  :  "  Not 
yet !  You  shall  not  link  your  fate  to  mine  till  I  feel  it 
will  not  destroy  you  !  Make  what  plans  you  can  to  take 
me  out  of  Russia  ;  then,  if  I  escape,  I  am  yours,  body 
and  soul — love  of  my  life  !  but  I'll  not  have  you  link 
your  fate  to  mine,  or  hold  your  promise,  till  I  am  safe  ! 
I  offer  this,  not  a  bribe,  but  so  that  you  can  feel  yourself 
free  to  leave  me  to  my  fate,  without  remorse  ;  for  I  know 
my  chance  of  flight  is  nothing — nothing  ! — NOTHING  !  ! 
surrounded,  as  I  know  I  am,  by  spies  that  Dimitri  has  put 
about  me  to  show  me  how  he  loves  and  values  me!  When 
will  you  see  me  again  ?  Make  it  soon  ;  you  have  little 
time — less,  perhaps,  than  you  suspect !  " 

To  these  despairing  words,  Maurice  mutters  shortly  : 
"  I  shall  have  all  arranged  by  to-morrow — to-morrow,  at 
twelve  o'clock  !  I  can  hardly  be  ready  before  then." 

"  Then,  till  then  good-bye  !  "  and  she  would  run  from 
the  room,  as  if  she  feared  to  trust  herself  ;  but  at  the 
door  she  falters  and  turns  toward  him,  as  if  she  dreaded 
this  parting  was  their  last. 

He  has  turned  his  head  away  from  her,  and  is  trying  to 
drive  love  from  his  brain,  so  that  he  may  think  calmly  and 
logically  on  his  task,  that  seems  almost  impossible  ;  when 
— all  else  but  love  leaves  him,  and  for  one  bright  second 
the  world  is  joyous  to  him  on  this  awful  day  :  two  violet 
eyes,  beaming  like  suns  from  out  a  mist  of  tears,  look  into 
his  ;  two  soft  and  tender  arms  clasp  themselves  round 
his  neck  ;  two  lips,  that  would  be  a  fairy's  did  not  passion 
make  them  a  woman's,  are  pressed  lightly,  and  but  once, 
on  his  ! 

"  That  is  to  make  you  sure,  king  of  my  heart,  that  I, 
who  am  yours,  will  never  be  aught  to  other  man  !  By 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  271 

that,  if  I  never  look  on  you  again,  you'll  remember  Ora 
Lapuschkin,  Maurice — forever  ! — Maurice  !  " 

His  name  is  a  sigh  that  is  floating  back  to  him  through 
the  open  door  ;  but  though  he  runs  to  it — calling  her 
name — she  has  passed  away  from  him.  He  mutters  an 
awful  oath,  and  says  :  "  It  shall  not  be  forever  !  "  Then, 
fighting  down  passion,  he  becomes  outwardly  calm,  as  he 
passes  from  the  house  ;  for  Maurice  de  Verney  knows 
that  only  worldly  wisdom  will  solve  the  problem  upon 
which  his  future  life  depends. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 
OLGA'S  DATCHA. 

CALLING  a  droski  he  drives  straight  to  the  French 
Embassy,  on  the  Dvortzokaia  Quay — thinking  as  if  for 
his  life  all  the  while.  Arriving  there,  the  attache  in  wait- 
ing shows  him  in  to  the  minister  of  his  country. 

"  I've  been  waiting  to  see  you  for  the  last  hour,  de 
Verney,"  says  his  Excellency,  motioning  him  to  a  seat. 
"  Our  president  writes  me  that  he  wishes  you  in  Paris. 
There's  one  of  those  periodical  rows  in  the  Corps  LJgis- 
latif,  and  I  imagine  Marshal  MacMahon  thinks  you  can 
be  of  some  service  at  home.  Your  business  with  me  has 
been  all  settled.  You  look  quite  ill. — When  can  you 
leave?" 

"  I  have  not  been  well  for  some  little  time  ;  but  a  sea 
voyage  would  make  me  all  right.  I  would  return  to 
France  to-morrow,  but  no  steamers  sail  from  Cronstadt 
on  that  day." 

"  If  you  take  my  advice,  you'll  stick  to  the  land  !  These 
Baltic  packets  are  not  like  Atlantic  liners  ;  and  as  for  their 
cooks "  Here  his  Excellency  makes  a  grimace. 

"  I  know  that ;  but  you  have  a  steam  yacht  at  Cron- 
stadt, have  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes — not  a  very  large  one." 

"  But  seaworthy  enough  for  summer  sailing  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  seaworthy  !  She's  just  gone  into  commis- 
sion. Do  you  want  to  go  to  France  in  her  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  very  much.  Keep  your  embassy  flag  still  upon 
her,  and  I'll  charter  her  from  you  for  a  month.  You'll 
hardly  have  time  to  go  sailing  till  July." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  273 

"Well,"  returns  the  minister,  "she's  not  provisioned 
for  a  sea  voyage." 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  that  to-day,  and  be  ready  to-morrow  !  " 
cries  de  Verney  enthusiastically.  "  Just  give  me  a  note 
to  your  sailing-master,  and  I'll  be  well  before  I  reach 
France." 

"  The  very  thought  of  sea  air  seems  to  make  you 
better,"  laughs  his  Excellency.  "Just  tell  one  of  the 
clerks  to  write  the  letter  to  my  captain,  and  I'll  sign  it. 
Pay  the  expenses  of  the  boat,  and  you  can  have  her  ;  but 
you  must  send  her  back  by  July  !  " 

"I  will  do  more:  I'll  refit  her  in  France  before*  I 
return  her.  She  only  draws  eight  feet  of  water,  I 
believe  ? " 

"  Eight  and  a  half,  I  think,"  says  the  minister.  "  You're 
becoming  a  sailor  already  !  " 

"I  only  wanted  to  know  if  I  could  get  her  up  the 
Neva,"  remarks  the  chevalier.  "  I'll  have  her  at  the 
English  quay  to-night,  below  the  bridges,  and  be  ready  to 
leave  to-morrow.  You'll  send  one  of  the  attache's  to  get 
the  clearance  papers  from  the  custom-house  for  me  in 
your  own  name,  won't  you  ?  I  shall  be  so  extremely  busy, 
your  Excellency,  and  am  more  than  obliged  for  your  kind- 
ness ! " 

"  Certainly  ;  but  you  need  not  thank  me.  In  giving 
you  a  sea  voyage,  I'm  only  doing  my  duty  to  our  party. 
We  can't  afford  to  have  you  sick,  chevalier.  You'll  come 
and  see  me  before  leaving  ?  I  may  have  some  private 
letters  to  give  you,"  remarks  the  minister. 

"  Of  course,"  returns  Maurice  ;  and,  half  an  hour 
afterward,  thanking  Heaven  that  he  has  the  ear  and 
friendship  of  the  French  minister,  de  Verney,  with  the  let- 
ter to  the  captain  of  his  Excellency's  yacht  in  his  pocket, 
is  on  the  railroad  for  Cronstadt,  the  main  seaport  of  St. 
Petersburg,  where  all  large  cargoes  for  the  capital  are 
delivered  and  received,  there  not  being  sufficient  depth  of 


274  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

water  in  the  Neva  to  permit  vessels  of  great  draught  to 
come  up  from  the  Gulf  of  Finland. 

In  an  hour  and  a  half  more  he  is  at  that  place  ;  and  that 
night  having,  by  big  bribes  to  the  captain  and  crew,  and 
intense  labor  on  his  own  part,  got  the  yacht  ready  for 
sea — except  her  water,  provisions,  and  a  chef  to  cook 
them — he  comes  up  the  Neva  in  the  fleet  little  vessel, 
which  is  called  the  Sophie,  after  one  of  his  Excellency's 
children,  and  at  midnight  is  moored  to  the  English  quay, 
St.  Petersburg. 

The  yacht  papers  being  looked  at  by  the  proper  offi- 
cets,  and  the  crew's  passports  and  his  own  proving  satis- 
factory to  the  police,  de  Verney  goes  to  his  lodgings  in 
the  Sergievskaia,  and  orders  Fran£ois  to  pack  their  bag- 
gage and  next  morning  get  it  on  board  the  yacht — his 
own  passport  to  leave  Russia  being  already  at  his  hand, 
it  having  been  obtained  by  the  embassy  and  sent  up  to 
his  apartments  during  the  day. 

This  being  done  he  goes  to  bed,  thoroughly  worn 
out ;  for  the  excitement  and  labor  of  the  last  few  hours 
have  been  immense  ;  though  now  he  is  quite  hopeful, 
for  this  is  the  plan  of  action  he  has  formulated  in  his 
mind  : 

The  Sophie,  being  a  pleasure  boat,  and  bearing  the  flag 
of  the  French  minister,  will  be  subject  to  but  little  scru- 
tiny, even  at  this  time,  by  the  Russian  police.  His 
passport  is  en  regie  for  him  to  leave  St.  Petersburg.  Why 
should  not  Ora,  accompanied  by  Vassilissa,  or,  better  still, 
Mrs.  Johnston,  for  the  sake  of  that  respect  all  men  wish  to 
exact  from  the  world  for  the  women  they  intend  to  honor 
as  their  wives,  drive  to  the  English  quay  and  come 
quietly  on  board  ?  If  any  questions  are  asked  by 
policemen  on  the  dock  it  will  be  easy  to  state  that  the 
ladies  are  on  an  excursion  to  the  islands — part  of  the 
city  for  which  their  passports  are  good — and,  once 
under  way,  in  an  hour  they  will  be  on  the  open  waters 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  275 

of  the  gulf — under  the  flag  of  France  !  "  They  might 
telegraph  to  Reval,  at  the  head  of  the  gulf,  but  I  don't 
think  they'd  do  it  ;  and  if  they  did,  it  would  take  a 
fleeter  revenue  cutter  than  any  I  think  the  Russians  have 
to  catch  the  Sophie.  At  all  events,  it's  my  only  chance, 
and  I'll  take  it,"  he  thinks.  He  has  at  one  time 
thought  of  trying  to  get  the  French  minister  to  consent 
to  his  marriage  to  the  girl  at  the  embassy,  but  has  put 
away  the  idea,  as  he  knows  his  Excellency  would  never 
permit  a  performance  that  would  lessen  the  cordiality 
then  existing  between  France  and  Russia,  and  that,  after 
all,  the  embassy  flag  could  not  protect  a  subject  of  the 
Czar,  which,  under  any  circumstances,  the  Muscovite 
Government  would  be  sure  to  consider  Ora. 

"  If  I  broached  that  wild  idea  to  him,  I  lose  the  use  of 
his  yacht — that  would  be  all.  That  yacht's  my  only 
chance  ;  but  it's  a  fair  one  ; "  and  with  this  de  Verney 
goes  to  sleep  for  a  few  hours,  knowing  if  he  gets  to  sea 
he  will  have  but  little  sleep  next  evening. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  is  on  the  Sophie  again, 
and  under  his  directions  the  supplies  and  water  are  got 
on  board. 

Directing  the  captain  to  get  the  boat  under  full  steam, 
he  drives  to  the  French  Embassy,  gets  the  yacht's  clear- 
ance papers,  that  have  been  already  obtained  from  the 
custom-house,  and  some  private  communications  the  min- 
ister intrusts  to  him  ;  and,  with  heart  beating  quick  with 
hope,  Maurice  de  Verney  ascends  the  steps  leading  to 
Ora  Lapuschkin's  house.  It  is  twelve  o'clock,  which  is 
the  appointed  hour. 

The  dvornik  responds  to  his  call.  He  asks  for  Made- 
moiselle la  Comtesse. 

"  She  has  gone  away." 

"Away?"  gasps  Maurice. 

"  Yes;  last  evening,  with  her  guardian,  maid,  and  her 
aunt,  the  Princess  Platoff,  who  had  just  arrived." 


276  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Then  please  give  my  card  to  your  mistress,  and  tell 
her  I  wish  to  see  her  for  a  minute." 

"  That  is  impossible,  Monsieur  de  Verney,"  says  the 
man,  who  knows  Maurice  very  well.  "  Madame  Johnston 
left  this  morning  for  Paris." 

"  You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Certain  !  I  looked  at  her  passport,  as  the  police  now 
require  me  to  do.  The  last  of  her  trunks  went  two  hours 
ago  to  the  Wilna  railroad  station.  She  left  in  a  hurry," 
mutters  the  dvornik,  with  a  grin;  for  the  outspoken  Sallie 
had  once  too  often  expressed  herself  strongly  regarding 
the  present  police  measures  of  the  capital  ;  and  when  she 
asked  for  her  passport  it  was  hinted  to  her  that  she  had 
better  leave  Russia  immediately,  a  request  that  she  had 
acted  upon  with  Western  common  sense. 

"  Then — there — is  no  message  for  me  ?  "  says  de 
Verney,  quietly  slipping  a  ten-rouble  bill  into  the  man's 
hand. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  ! "  replies  the  dvornik,  pocketing  the 
money.  "  Certainly,  Mademoiselle  la  Comtesse  gave  me 
this  for  you  ; "  and  he  produces  a  small  envelope,  on 
which  de  Verney's  name  is  written. 

Turning  away  from  the  small,  piercing  eyes  of  this 
man,  Maurice  tears  open  the  letter ;  and  for  a  moment 
the  bright  June  sun  grows  dark  in  the  heavens  to  him, 
though  there  is  still  light  enough  to  show  him  these 
words,  in  the  handwriting  of  despair  : 

"  Farewell  !— 

"ORA  LAPUSCHKIN." 

Afraid  of  spies  ;  afraid  her  letter  would  be  read  by 
others  ;  afraid  of  engulfing  the  man  who  loved  her  in 
her  own  ruin — she  had  written  simply  what  he  read, 
in  writing  nearly  blotted  out  with  tears  that  he  knows 
have  fallen  from  the  eyes  he  loves. 

He  staggers  down  to  his  droski,  and  mutters  to  the 
driver  Prince  PlatofFs  address. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  277 

In  the  carriage,  for  the  first  few  minutes  he  is  too 
stunned  to  think.  The  blow  has  come  so  suddenly  that 
even  now  he  does  not  fully  realize  it;  for  he  cannot  bring 
himself  to  believe  that  she  dare  not  see  him  for  fear  of 
engulfing  him  in  her  own  fate.  He  will  not  believe  that — 
at  least  not  yet  ! 

He  gets  to  Platoff's  rooms,  and  there  learns  nothing, 
save  that  Sergius  has  gone  into  the  country  for  a  few 
days. 

"  Where  ?  " 

That  the  servant  cannot  tell. 

"  Tula  ? " — He  gives  the  man  some  money. 

"  I  hardly  think  so,  sir,"  replies  the  man,  anxious  to 
earn  his  douceur. 

"  Why  not  ? " 

"  Because  Madame  la  Princesse  Platoff  arrived  from 
Tula  yesterday." 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  Wouldn't  monsieur  like  some  refreshment  ? "  suggests 
the  servant.  "  You  look  sick  ;  or  is  it  the  heat  of  the 
sun  ? " 

"  I'll  do  very  well  in  a  moment,"  mutters  Maurice;  and 
he  gets  down  the  steps  again,  and  tells  his  driver  to  take 
him  to  his  rooms  in  the  Sergievskaia.  He  must  have  time 
to  collect  himself,  the  blow  is  so  sudden  and  so  hard. 

This  the  ishvostnik  is  very  glad  to  do,  and  get  rid  of 
him  ;  for,  on  Maurice  getting  out,  the  Russian  says  :  "  Pay 
me  in  silver  ;  "  which  being  done,  he  puts  the  money 
under  his  seat,  and  going  home  boils  the  coins  in  vinegar; 
for  he  thinks — such  is  his  sudden  pallor  and  faintness  as  he 
staggered  from  Ora  Lapuschkin's  doorway,  the  sweat  of 
agony  on  his  brow,  and  his  peculiar  appearance  since  that 
time — that  de  Verney  has  the  plague — of  which  there  is 
some  talk  at  this  time  in  St.  Petersburg — and  is  afraid  of 
the  infection. 

At  home,  to  Fraii9ois,  who  has  just  returned  from  the 


278  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

yacht,  Maurice  says  hoarsely  :  "  Did  no  one  call  for  me 
yesterday,  between  noon  and  midnight  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replies  his  servant,  looking  at  him  astonished. 

"  There  was  no  message — letter — nothing?  And  you 
were  here  the  whole  time  ?  " 

"  There  was  nothing  except  your  passport,  sent  up 
from  the  embassy  ;  and  I  was  here  every  moment." 

"  Then  go  to  the  Sophie  and  bring  back  a  valise,  and 
clothes  for  a  few  days.  Tell  the  captain  to  keep  his  fires 
banked  and  the  boat  under  short  steam — I  may  leave  at 
any  moment." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  "  and  Fran£ois  goes  quickly  out,  leaving  de 
Verney  in  deeper  gloom  ;  for  he  had  had  a  hope  that 
Vassilissa  might  have  sent  him  some  word — knowing  that 
the  girl  trusts  him.  Even  yet  he  expects  from  her  a 
message,  and  waits  here  for  it  ;  for  it  is  to  this  address 
Vassilissa  will  send — if  she  sends  anything. 

When  Francois  returns  with  his  clothes,  he  charges  him 
as  follows  :  To  answer  every  summons  at  the  door,  day 
or  night,  in  person  ;  not  to  sleep  till  he  returns,  but  in 
case  any  message  comes,  to  raise  the  blind  of  his  center 
front  window  half  way  up.  He  will  drive  past  every  half 
hour  or  so,  and  if  he  sees  it  raised  he  will  come  in. 

Then  he  goes  out,  and  visiting  all  of  Ora's  and  PlatofF s 
friends  that  he  thinks  likely  may  know  her  present  loca- 
tion, he  pumps  them  casually  on  this  subject,  though  it  is 
desperate  hard  to  keep  his  lips  laughing,  and  his  anxiety 
from  breaking  forth. 

But'  they  all  still  think  Ora  Lapuschkin  is  with  the 
rich  American  lady,  in  her  palace  on  the  Frontanka  Canal, 
and  chat  to  him  of  past  and  present  gayeties  till  he  almost 
loathes  the  sound  of  human  voices. 

Each  time  he  has  driven  past  his  rooms  the  center 
curtain  has  been  down.  He  now  returns  to  them,  and 
getting  no  news  from  Fran£ois — anxiety  overcoming 
prudence  for  a  few  minutes — he  orders  his  ishvostnik  to 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  279 

the  office  of  Prince  Dimitri,  who  he  knows  can  tell  him, 
if  he  wishes  to,  where  Ora  Lapuschkin  and  her  guardian 
have  gone. 

The  droski  driver  looks  askance  at  de  Verney  as  he 
gives  him  this  direction  ;  but,  after  crossing  the  Pantelie- 
mon  bridge,  and  getting  as  far  on  his  way  as  the  Michael 
Theater,  the  man  stops  and  says  his  horse  is  tired,  and 
that  Maurice  will  have  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  way;  which 
de  Verney  does,  thinking  perhaps  the  ishvostnik  is  cor- 
rect, for  he  has  kept  him  busy  this  afternoon — as  if  a 
Russian  droski  horse  was  ever  tired  so  long  as  his  driver 
could  gain  a  copeck  by  the  beast  keeping  on  his  feet  ? 
The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  Maurice's  rapid  wanderings 
about  the  town  this  afternoon  have  frightened  the  man  ; 
and  his  last  direction,  to  the  office  of  one  of  the  heads  of 
police,  has  been  too  much  for  the  fellow's  nerves. 

It  is  only  a  few  minutes'  walk,  however  ;  and  though 
the  streets  are  dusty,  for  it  is  now  the  beginning  of  June, 
de  Verney  is  too  engrossed  to  notice  this,  and  is  soon  at 
Dimitri's  office. 

Here  he  is  compelled  to  wait ;  for  Prince  Menchi- 
koff  is  engaged  at  present,  one  of  the  clerks  politely 
informs  the  chevalier. 

A  few  moments  after,  Dimitri  opens  his  door  to  dis- 
miss a  pale,  haggard-looking  woman  of  about  forty.  She 
is  not  crying  nor  sobbing,  but  there  is  an  expression  on 
her  face  that  means  more  than  tears.  This  person,  who  has 
the  dress  and  manner  of  a  lady,  staggers  out  ;  but,  after 
getting  from  the  door,  gives  a  kind  of  gasp  and  catches 
Dimitri's  arm,  and  falling  on  her  knees,  as  de  Verney,  and 
the  attache's,  and  clerks,  and  underlings  look  on,  moans : 
"  My  God  !  Why  don't  you  let  me  see  my  daughter  ?  " 

"I  have  told  you  that  is  impossible,"  remarks  Dimitri 
coldly.  "  Perhaps  when  you  call  again." 

"When  shall  I  come  ? "  says  the  woman  eagerly. 

"  Perhaps  in  a  year  or  two,"  suggests  the  official. 


280  THAT    FRENCHMAN  \ 

"  A  year  or  two  more  !  You'll  keep  my  daughter  in 
solitary  confinement  a  year  or  two  more  ! "  cries  the 
mother.  "  My  God  !  my  little  Natalia  '11  go  mad  !  Why 
don't  you  try  her?  Try  her — she  can  prove  her  inno- 
cence. Try  her  !  " 

"  That's  the  reason  we  don't  try  her,"  sneers  Dimitri. 
"  We  want  a  confession  from  the  young  lady ;  and  the 
solitude  of  '  preventative  detention '  will  loosen  her  tongue. 
She'll  stay  there  till  she  confesses.  Take  this  woman 
away  !  "  for  the  poor  creature  is  moaning,  groveling  at  his 
feet,  and  trying  to  kiss  his  hands  for  mercy  for  her  off- 
spring, who  is  to  be  in  that  awful  silence  which  drives 
sanity  from  the  brain,  till  the  girl  confesses  to  a  crime 
the  heads  of  police  know  that  they  can  never  prove 
against  her. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  de  Verney  ! "  cries  Dimitri,  seeing 
Maurice  ;  "  come  into  my  office  and  have  a  cigar.  What 
can  I  do  for  you  ? "  addressing  the  chevalier  very  cor- 
dially. 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  no  cigar,"  replies  de  Verney,  accept- 
ing the  invitation  to  enter  Menchikoff's  private  office, 
however.  "I  only  called  for  some  information.  I  am 
going  to  Paris  shortly." 

"Yes,  I  know — very  shortly,"  interrupts  the  official. 
"  Better  change  your  mind  and  have  a  cigar.  No  ? 
Well?" 

"  Well,  as  I  have  two  or  three  I.  O.  U.'s  of  Platoff— 
you  understand,  the  Imperial  Yacht  Club — and  as  he  is 
out  of  town,  I  thought  I  would  ask  you  for  his  address, 
so  that  I  could  write  to  him." 

"  Ah,  you  outsiders  think  we  policemen  know  every- 
thing ;  but  we  don't  !  " 

"  I  know  that  very  well,  also.  I  was  once  connected 
with  the  secret  police  of  the  Third  Empire,  myself," 
returns  de  Verney. 

"Ah  ha  !     Then  you  must  know  that  we  of  the  Third 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  281 

Section  are  often  ignorant ;  but  if  you  will  write,  I'll 
give  Platoff  your  letter,  when  I  learn  his  location,"  mur- 
murs Dimitri. 

"  If  you  don't  know  it  now,  your  policemen  are  not 
doing  their  duty,  under  the  present  regulations,"  replies 
Maurice,  who  knows  Menchikoff  is  lying  to  him. 

"  Yes,  they're  lazy  rascals,"  laughs  Dimitri.  "  Leave 
the  letter  for  me  to-morrow  ;  I'll  send  it  to  him  when  I 
know  PlatofFs  address.  So  you  are  about  to  leave  us  ? 
I'm  not  sure  but  that  it  is  a  wise  move,  on  your  part. 
You  don't  look  well,  my  dear  de  Verney.  This  climate 
of  ours  is  very  trying  to  foreigners  ;  it's  decidedly 
unhealthy — for  some.  I  shall  be  in  Paris  myself,  next 
winter,  with  Madame  Dimitri.  You  know  who  she  will 
be  !  Call  upon  us  in  Paris,  my  dear  chevalier." 

"  You  feel  sure  you  will  be  in  Paris  ?  "  says  Maurice, 
steadying  his  voice,  after  this  telling  shot  from  the 
Russian. 

"  Yes  !  "  says  the  other,  laughingly  ;  then  his  face 
becomes  gloomy,  and  he  mutters  :  "  if  they  let  me  live  !  " 

For  the  nihilists  had  at  this  time  posted  placards  up 
all  over  St.  Petersburg,  condemning  the  heads  of  police  to 
death  ;  and  this  had  so  frightened  Zuroff,  the  prefect  of 
the  Third  Section,  that  he  had  resigned  ;  and  Dimitri, 
who  was  of  sterner  nature,  had  taken  his  place,  and  was 
now,  consequently,  under  sentence  of  death,  from  the 
Russian  National  Committee.  As  this  body  had  an  awful 
way  of  carrying  out  its  sentences,  in  unexpected  hours, 
places,  and  modes,  even  his  Tartar  nerves  are  shaken  ; 
and  he  smiles  no  more  at  de  Verney,  as  he  bids  him 
"Bon  voyage!''  and  says  :  "I'll  convey  your  regrets  to 
her  !  " 

As  for  Maurice,  the  very  confidence  of  Menchikoff 
frightens  him.  Two  months  before  this  he  had  never 
openly  announced  his  marriage  to  the  girl.  The  more 
confidence  he  has,  the  greater  hold  this  man's  police 


282  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

must  have  upon  her.  He  walks  into  the  streets,  and 
gets  home  somehow,  to  again  wait — wait  for  some  mes- 
sage, that  instinct,  rather  than  reason,  tells  him  Vassilissa 
must  send  to  him. 

At  length,  leaving  an  untasted  dinner,  he  orders  Fran- 
9ois  on  watch  again,  and  bolts  for  the  British  Embassy  ; 
for  a  sudden  idea  has  come  into  his  head,  that  perhaps 
Beresford,  who  is  one  of  those  peculiar  little  fellows  who 
seem  to  pick  up  everything  that  is  going  on,  and  to 
know  a  little  something  about  everybody,  may  be  able 
to  tell  him  what  may  lead  him  to  the  woman  for  whom 
he  is  so  anxious. 

Arriving  there,  to  his  astonishment  the  man  who 
answers  his  summons  informs  him  that  Mr.  Beresford 
has  been  away  two  days. 

"  Where  ? "  asks  de  Verney,  giving  him  a  tip. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,  sir  ;  but  it  was  to  one  of  the 
islands." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  drive  across  the  Troitzkoi  bridge." 

"  Do  you  think  he'll  be  back  to-night  ?  " 

"  Scarcely  !    He  took  a  valise  with  him." 

The  chance  of  obtaining  any  information  from  Beres- 
ford seeming  small  this  evening,  Maurice  turns  his 
steps  again  to  the  Sergievskaia.  He  is  not  sorry  for  his 
walk  :  though  it  has  brought  nothing,  it  has  kept  him 
from  thinking.  If  he  can  only  do  that?  That's  all  he 
begs  God  in  his  mercy  to  grant  this  long  night  that  is 
before  him,  in  which  he  can  do  naught  to  save  the 
woman  he  loves. 

As  he  reaches  the  entrance  of  his  house,  he  gets  a 
sudden  sensation.  A  man  passes  him  rapidly,  and,  as  he 
does  so,  whispers  in  his  ear  the  startling  words  :  "  Take 
care  of  yourself ;  you  are  watched  by  the  police!"  He 
turns  half  way  round,  so  as  to  get  one  eye  on  the  man  ; 
but  the  Sergievskaia  is  too  wide  a  street  to  be  very  well 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  283 

lighted,  and  he  cannot  recognize  him  :  all  he  can  see  is 
that  his  informant  is  rather  small. 

Maurice  gets  upstairs  to  his  apartments,  and  Francois 
having  nothing  to  tell  him,  he  is  glad  of  this  incident, 
for  it  gives  him  something  to  speculate  upon  that  will 
still  keep  him  from  thinking  of  her. 

The  person  who  spoke  to  him  was  evidently  waiting 
near  his  door  for  that  purpose,  and  desperately  afraid 
that  he  should  be  seen  addressing  Maurice ;  for  he 
passed  him  very  rapidly,  and  literally  threw  the  words 
into  de  Verney's  ear  as  he  sped  on. 

"  Who  can  this  friend  be  ?  "  Maurice  ponders. 

The  voice  was  familiar  ;  the  man  spoke  in  French, 
and  it  seems  to  him  that  he  remembers  the  tones  as  being 
connected  with  some  particular  and  important  episode  of 
his  life  ;  but,  try  as  he  may,  he  cannot  recollect  what  one. 

After  a  time,  he  gives  up  speculation  on  who  the  man 
is,  and  devotes  his  mind  as  to  how  any  espionage  on  him 
may  affect  his  plans  or  chances. 

It  had  never  occurred  to  him  before  that  his  actions 
might  have  been  watched  ;  he  knew  spies  were  everywhere 
in  St.  Petersburg,  but,  being  engaged  in  no  conspiracies 
against  the  government,  had  never  thought  of  police 
espionage.  He  now  becomes  rather  curious  to  test  the 
truth  of  the  man's  assertion,  and  to  discover  if  there 
are  any  spies  immediately  about  him  in  this  house.  Of 
Fran£ois,  the  faithful  service  of  many  years  makes  him 
as  certain  as  of  himself. 

There  are  a  great  many  servants  in  all  Russian  estab- 
lishments, and  de  Verney  has  in  his  employ  an  Italian 
waiter  for  his  table  and  a  French  cook  in  his  kitchen  ;  of 
these  gentry  he  is  not  so  sure. 

It  is  only  eleven  o'clock,  and,  as  is  his  usual  custom, 
the  Italian  is  setting  a  light  supper  for  him  in  his  dining- 
room.  This  gentleman  he  will  test  to-night. 

He  looks  over  his  papers,  and  selects  an  unimportant 


284  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

letter  ;  then  places  it  in  his  pocket-book,  strolls  in,  and 
sits  down  at  table,  forcing  himself  to  appear  to  eat, 
though  he  has  been  too  miserable  to  care  for  food  since 
the  noon  of  this  day. 

During  his  enforced  meal  he  pulls  this  letter  carefully 
from  his  pocket-book,  and  reads  it  over  several  times  ; 
next  gets  up  and  paces  the  apartment,  pondering  deeply  ; 
then  produces  and  reads  the  letter  again  ;  and  finally 
tears  it  into  ten  pieces  and  puts  them  in  a  cuspidor, 
and,  finishing  his  meal,  walks  out  into  his  parlor.  Half 
an  hour  after  this,  coming  back  into  the  dining-room,  he 
examines  the  receptacle  :  the  torn-up  letter  is  gone,  to  a 
piece  ;  but  cigar  stumps  and  ashes  remain  to  show  that  the 
document  only  has  been  removed,  not  the  vessel  cleaned. 
He  knows  he  has  one  spy  in  his  household.  The  cook 
he'll  look  after  in  the  morning. 

And  now  the  night  is  before  him.  If  his  thoughts  could 
aid  her  in  any  way  !  But  he  has  nothing  to  speculate 
upon — only  her  danger  ;  for  he  knows  Ora  Lapuschkin 
would  never  have  fled  from  him  if  she  had  hope.  He 
tries  to  read — impossible  !  He  tries  to  sleep,  and  does  so  ; 
but  then  he  dreams  visions  more  horrible  than  his  waking 
thoughts,  and  he  moans  :  "  God  help  me  !  I  am  so  help- 
less," and  paces  the  floor  till  the  morning  sun  comes  into 
his  windows,  to  tell  him  another  day  is  here — but  brings 
him  no  more  hope. 

Early  in  the  morning,  not  to  miss  a  single  chance,  he 
sends  Frangois  to  the  yacht  to  order  the  captain  to  keep 
up  full  steam  all  day,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  move  at  any 
moment. 

While  his  body-servant  is  away  on  this  errand,  the 
Italian  brings  in  his  breakfast ;  it  is  a  light  one — simply 
a  Gatchina  trout,  a  lettuce  salad,  coffee,  and  bread  and 
butter.  Forcing  himself  to  eat — for  he  knows  if  ever  a 
chance  of  action  offers  itself  he  must  have  strength — de 
Verney  finishes  the  trout.  At  this  moment  he  hears  his 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  285 

cook,  who  has  no  business  to  be  out  in  the  hall,  saying  : 
"  What  do  you  want,  you  white-haired  beggar  ?  " 

In  an  instant  he  is  out  in  the  hall  too,  looking  at  a 
white-haired  urchin  of  about  twelve  years  of  age,  whom 
the  cook  is  eagerly  questioning  as  to  what  he  wants,  has 
he  got  a  message,  etc. 

"  Go  into  the  kitchen  and  make  me  an  omelet  ;  you 
never  have  enough  breakfast.  I'll  attend  to  this  boy," 
says  de  Verney  quickly,  to  prevent  reply  from  the  white- 
headed  urchin,  who  has  already  opened  his  mouth. 

And  the  man  not  going  rapidly,  he  opens  the  door  for 
him,  and  cries  :  "  Quick  !  my  omelet  ;  "  for  he  has  sud- 
denly become  suspicious  of  cook  as  well  as  waiter. 

This  the  man  does  in  a  lingering  sort  of  way;  and 
Maurice,  who  has  now  a  flush  on  his  face,  says  eagerly  : 
"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  my  man  ?  " 

"  First,  little  father,  are  you  the  Frenchman  what  lives 
here,  the  high  nobility,  called — called — what  are  you 
called  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  who  has  forgotten  the  name,  but 
has  found  the  place. 

"  De  Verney,"  suggests  the  chevalier. 

"  That's  it— Nobility  !  Well,Vassilissa,  who  is  not  a  liar, 
told  me  you'd  give  me  a  rouble  for  this  !  "  and  the  white- 
headed  boy  extends  a  piece  of  paper  that  has  grown  dirty 
in  his  hands. 

"  Vassilissa  is  not  a  liar  !  "  cries  de  Verney,  seizing  the 
missive ;  "  I'll  give  you  two  roubles  !  "  In  truth,  he 
would  give  the  boy  thousands,  did  not  he  fear  creating 
suspicion.  He  hurriedly  tears  open  the  note.  The  joy 
fades  from  his  face  ;  the  contents  seem  to  him  so  serious. 
In  an  ungainly  peasant's  hand,  it  reads  thus  : 

"  If,  as  you  swore  to  me  on  the  seven  sacraments  of  our  Church, 
you  love  my  mistress,  come  to  her  and  save  her.  Come  to-day — 
to-morrow  will  be  too  late. 

"Kristofskoi  Island, 

Between  the  Bjalosselki  Prospekt  and  the  Petrofski  Bridge. 
"  It  is  called  Olga's  Datcha  and  is  on  the  Malaya  Neva." 


286  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

After  asking  the  boy  a  few  questions  as  to  the  location 
of  the  place,  and  making  very  sure  he  can  find  it,  he 
says  to  the  little  fellow  :  "  Go  to  Vassilissa  and  tell  her  I 
gave  you  two  roubles,  and  will  do  what  she  asks  !  " 

Then  he  returns  to  his  breakfast,  cursing  his  stupidity; 
for  the  boy  has  told  him  that  Olga's  Datcha  is  a  beautiful 
villa  that  had  belonged  to  his  mistress,  the  young  Countess 
Lapuschkin,  since  he  remembers:  he  had  been  born  there. 
Maurice  had  never  heard  Ora  speak  of  this  place  ;  for 
the  girl  seldom  mentioned  her  possessions — being  so  very 
rich,  she  had  so  many  of  them.  Had  he,  instead  of  inquir- 
ing for  the  girl,  asked  about  her  country  houses,  he  would 
doubtless  have  been  told  of  this  villa,  and  would  surely 
have  ridden  out  to  see  if  she  was  there  ;  it  being  located 
on  one  of  the  garden  islands  of  the  Neva,  to  which  at 
this  season  many  of  the  nobility  are  going  for  the  fresh 
breezes  from  the  Gulf  of  Finland.  His  error  has  lost 
him  one  precious  day. 

Forcing  himself  to  patience — for  a  visit  at  so  early  an 
hour  in  the  morning  from  a  gentleman  to  a  lady  would 
have  a  very  curious  look  in  Russia — and  compelled  any 
way  to  wait  for  Fran£ois'  return,  he  sits  down  to  finish 
his  breakfast  ;  knowing  that  food  gives  strength  to  brain 
and  body,  and  guessing  he  will  have  need  of  both  this 
day. 

He  tells  his  Italian  to  get  some  more  coffee,  that  on 
the  table  having  grown  cold.  The  man  turns  from  the 
room,  and  he  takes  out  Vassilissa's  letter  to  have  another 
careful  look  at  it,  to  read  between  its  lines  if  possible. 
He  has  hardly  got  this  before  him  when  he  hears  a 
stealthy  step  behind  him.  In  another  moment  the  spy 
will  see  this  curious  document.  Hastily  picking  up  the 
cayenne  pepper  holder,  as  the  Italian  pops  his  head  over 
his  shoulder,  Maurice  gives  two  lightning  flourishes  with 
his  arm,  with  such  a  deftness  and  vigor  that,  instead  of 
peppering  his  salad,  he  cayennes  the  fellow's  eyes,  who, 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  287 

blinded,  staggers  from  him  and  sinks  on  a  sofa,  screaming 
with  agony. 

"  By  Jove  !  I  thought  you  had  gone  for  the  coffee, 
Amadie  !  I'm  afraid  I've  been  a  little  awkward," 
remarks  de  Verney  sadly ;  but,  before  he  can  say  more, 
the  cook  flies  in  with  the  omelet,  and  in  another  second 
this  number  two  may  see  the  letter.  Having  no  wish 
for  report  of  this  missive  to  go  to  Dimitri,  and  no  time 
to  do  aught  else,  Maurice  slaps  it  under  the  lettuce  in 
his  salad  dish,  and  pins  it  there  with  his  fork. 

But  as  he  does  so,  did  he  not  control  himself  he  would 
give  a  jump  ;  for  the  door  opens,  and  in  walks  Menchi- 
koff  himself. 

"  I  called — excuse  my  early  hour,  and  announcing 
myself  :  your  door  was  open — to  say  to  you  that  I  expect 
to  see  Prince  Platoff  to-day,  and  will  give  him  your  note 
if  you  have  it  written,"  remarks  the  latter.  "  But  what 
is  the  matter  with  your  waiter  ? " 

"  Oh,"  replies  de  Verney,  "  Amadie  got  some  pepper 
in  his  eyes  as  I  was  fixing  the  salad. — We  shall  not  want 
you  at  present ;  you  can  go." 

And,  as  the  man  retires,  Maurice  cries  :  "  Sit  down, 
Monsieur  le  Prince,  and  have  some  breakfast  with  me. 
I  can  only  offer  you  an  omelet  and  some  salad." 

"  I've  already  breakfasted,"  murmurs  Dimitri. 
"  Where's  your  letter  ?  I  should  be  sorry  if  my  relative 
let  you  leave  St.  Petersburg  without  settling  a  debt  of 
honor.  Sergius  is  a  curious  old  chap,  and  after  I  get 
married,  I'm  afraid  I  may  have  some  financial  diffi- 
culty with  him  myself.  You're  going  to  leave  us  to- 
day?" 

"Yes,"  says  de  Verney;  "but  I  haven't  written  the 
letter.  I'll  forward  it  to  you." 

"  Oh,  I'll  wait  till  you  finish  !  Don't  let  me  hurry  your 
breakfast."  And  Dimitri  sits  down  lazily  on  the  sofa, 
and  chats  to  Maurice  ;  while  de  Verney,  compelled  to  the 


288  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

feat,  coolly  eats  up  his  literary  salad  under  the  eyes  of 
the  prefect  of  the  Third  Section. 

His  curious  repast  being  over,  he  writes  the  letter  to 
Prince  Plato ff,  and  gives  it  to  Dimitri,  who  says:  " Au 
revoir.  I'm  really  glad  you  are  going,  my  dear  chevalier  ; 
this  climate  of  ours  is  too  much  for  you.  You  look  even 
worse  than  last  night ;  you'd  die  if  you  stayed  here  !  " 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  get  to  Paris,"  returns  Mau- 
rice. So  they  both  lie  to  each  other,  yet  tell  the  truth. 

The  moment  the  prince  has  gone,  de  Verney  begins 
his  preparations  for  the  day  ;  and,  Fran£ois  being  now 
returned,  he  sends  him  to  a  livery  stable  to  get  as  good  a 
carriage  and  as  fast  a  pair  of  Orloff  trotters  as  can  be  had. 
Then,  in  ordinary  afternoon  dress,  and  totally  unarmed, 
save  by  a  sound  mind  and  strong  body — for  the  laws 
against  bearing  weapons  are  very  stringent — but  taking 
Francois  as  his  squire  with  him,  to  be  made  useful  as 
occasion  may  demand,  Maurice  de  Verney,  like  knight- 
errant  of  old,  sallies  forth  to  rescue  the  maiden  of  his 
heart  from  all  tyrants  who  may  enthrall  or  destroy 
her. 

Crossing  the  Troitzkoi  bridge,  de  Verney  directs  the 
driver,  who  is  about  to  turn  to  the  left  for  the  more  direct 
way,  to  take  the  Kamennoi  Island  street.  In  half  an 
hour  they  have  crossed  the  Malaya  Neva,  and  are  on 
that  beautiful  island,  driving  between  pretty  villas  backed 
by  pine-trees  and  surrounded  by  the  rapid-growing  foliage 
of  the  north,  that  is  already  green  and  fresh  this  June 
day.  Turning  to  their  left,  they  soon  pass  another  bridge, 
to  Kristofshoi  Island,  perhaps  the  least  thickly  settled  of 
all  these  beauty  spots  of  St.  Petersburg,  skirting  the  banks 
of  the  blue  Malaya  Neva,  whose  waters  are  rushing  out 
between  green  banks  to  the  Finnish  Gulf. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  driver  says,  "  Olga's  Datcha  !  " 
and  de  Verney  sees  the  place  upon  which  he  guesses  will 
be  played  the  game  on  which  the  happiness  of  all  his 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  289 

future  will  depend.  He  heaves  a  sigh — he  has  so  few 
trump  cards — then  looks  at  his  watch.  It  is  one  o'clock, 
the  hour  at  which  he  wished  to  arrive. 

He  examines  the  scene  ;  it  is  ravishingly  beautiful. 
Art  has  done  much  for  it,  but  nature  more.  "  Olga's 
Datcha  " — Anglice  "Olga's  gift,"  prettily  named  after 
the  girl's  patron  saint  by  her  father,  who  had  built  this 
place  just  before  the  time  a  little  daughter  came  to  his 
heart  from  a  dead  mother's  breast — is  termed  by  the 
Russians  a  villa,  but  is  large  enough,  though  only  two 
stories  high,  to  be  considered  a  country  house  in  other 
lands.  It  is  Eastern  in  its  architecture.  Through  the 
trees  Maurice  can  see  a  couple  of  cupolas  and  minarets 
gleam,  also  a  miniature  lake,  from  which  a  bubbling,  rush- 
ing brook  runs  into  the  river,  whose  blue  waters  are 
sparkling  in  the  sunlight.  About  the  house  are  beau- 
tiful gardens,  and  connected  with  it  a  conservatory  and 
hothouse  full  of  growing  grapes,  oranges,  palms,  and 
orchids  ;  while  encircling  all  this  is  the  eternal  green  of 
the  northern  forests  of  pine,  and  larch,  and  fir.  A  little 
avenue,  some  two  hundred  yards  long,  winds  up  to  the 
house.  This  is  heavily  shaded  by  trees  of  lime  and  locust. 
The  place  seems  half  asleep  in  the  sunlight  as  de  Verney 
drives  up  the  avenue. 

'9 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE    SIX    NAPKINS. 

A  COUPLE  of  Russian  flunkies  in  the  countess'  liv- 
eries are  lounging  in  the  hall,  the  door  of  which  is  open, 
the  day  being  warm.  Telling  Francois  to  take  the  car- 
riage round  to  the  stables,  Maurice  jumps  out,  and  gives 
his  card  and  a  rouble  to  one  of  the  menials,  both  of  whom 
have  stepped  to  the  porte-cochere  to  meet  him. 

*'  Take  my  name  to  your  mistress,  and  the  rouble  for 
yourself,"  he  remarks. 

"  The  countess  has  company,"  returns  the  man.  "  Will 
monsieur  wait  a  moment  ? " 

"  No,  I'll  follow  you.  I'm  one  of  the  company,"  says 
de  Verney  shortly,  and  giving  the  man  no  time  to  hesi- 
tate, follows  him  at  once  into  a  great  summer  sitting- 
room,  the  windows  of  which  open  directly  on  the  garden, 
that  slopes  slightly  down  to  the  river. 

As  his  name  is  announced,  he  hears  little  exclama- 
tions from  one  or  two  in  the  room.  One  of  them,  he  is 
sure,  is  in  Ora's  voice.  He  enters  ;  she  has  advanced  a 
step  to  meet  him  ;  on  her  face  there  is  a  sudden  flush 
He  takes  her  hand  ;  it  is  trembling  and  throbbing  in  his. 
grasp.  She  murmurs  a  word  of  greeting. 

"  Ah,  de  Verney,  my  boy  !  "  says  PJatoff,  coming  to 
him  in  that  free-and-easy  way  old  gentlemen  sometimes 
assume  to  younger  ones.  "  How  did  you  find  us  out  so 
soon  ?  We  are  just  getting  my  ward's  house  in  order, 
and  then  we'll  have  all  St.  Petersburg  here." 

"  I  got  your  address  from  Dimitri  Menchikoff,"  replies 
Maurice,  giving  lie  for  lie  with  diplomatic  ease. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  29! 

At  this  Sergius  gives  a  little  gesture  of  surprise,  and 
sinks  into  a  chair,  astonished  and  disgusted,  for  he  is  not 
at  all  pleased  to  see  Maurice  de  Verney  this  afternoon. 

Herr  Zamaroff  also,  Maurice  notes,  is  in  the  room. 
Having  greeted  the  financier,  the  chevalier  turns  to  get 
one  of  the  many  shocks  this  day  has  in  store  for  him  ; 
for  as  Ora  remarks,  "  Monsieur  de  Verney,  let  me  pre- 
sent you  to  my  aunt,  the  Princess  Platoff,"  he  finds  him- 
self gazing  on  the  face  of  Louise,  the  flower-girl  of  the 
Jardin  d'Acclimatation  of  ten  years  ago. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Brian,  the  lady  you  sent  to  us  in 
Paris  to  be  my  governess  in  1868 — ah,  I  see  you  remem- 
ber her  !  "  says  the  young  countess  a  little  pointedly  ;  for 
she  still  recollects,  though  she  has  forgiven,  the  story 
Sergius  has  told  her  at  the  ball  on  the  Frontanka. 

He  looks  again,  to  be  sure  of  his  senses — the  surprise 
is  so  great.  With  the  look,  conviction  comes  to  him  : 
the  eyes  are  as  dark  and  lurid,  the  hair  as  tawny,  as 
they  were  when  he  had  last  spoken  to  Louise  at  the 
house  of  Lieber,  in  the  Rue  de  Vignes. 

The  lady  murmurs  :  "  I  can  understand  your  surprise, 
Monsieur  de  Verney.  You  did  not  guess  the  governess 
had  changed  into  a  princess,"  and  turns  to  a  gentleman 
who  is  seated  near  her. 

This  is  young  Beresford,  who  cries  out  to  him  :  "  I 
found  them  first,  de  Verney.  I'm  great  at  scenting  out 
the  beauties  of  nature.  This  is  my  second  day/' 

To  this  Maurice  makes  some  laughing  rejoinder,  and 
sits  down  to  pull  himself  together.  He  knows  he  has 
now  another  enemy  in  the  house,  and  is  very  much  sur- 
prised at  it.  He  had  never  doubted  that  Louise  had 
been  sent  away  on  the  receipt  of  his  letter  by  the  gen- 
eral. But,  at  the  worst,  she  has  done  her  duty  by  the 
orphan  :  no  one  looking  at  Ora  could  doubt  that  she 
was  anything  but  good  and  noble. 

He  gazes  quietly  at  the  girl  :  the  blush  has  faded  from 


2Q2  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

her  face  ;  she  has  sunk  into  a  chair  and  is  thinking.  But 
the  change  in  her  appearance  in  the  last  two  days  gives 
him  a  shudder.  Anxiety  has  made  fearful  attacks  upon 
Ora  Lapuschkin.  Not  that  she  is  less  beautiful — for  she 
is  more  so — only  her  beauty  has  become  more  ethereal, 
more  spiritual,  and  less  of  this  earth — she  seems  to  be 
floating  away  from  him. 

The  company  are  seated  about  the  room,  Zamaroff  and 
Platoff  together,  the  princess  and  Beresford  in  a  little 
alcove  by  themselves,  while  Ora  has  been  doing  her  duty 
as  hostess,  assisted  by  Vassilissa,  who  is  now  presiding  at 
the  samovar.  As  he  looks  round,  the  maid  is  passing  the 
tea  about  in  delicate  china  cups.  With  its  caravan  flavor 
slightly  heightened  by  slices  of  lemon,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  country,  it  is  a  refreshing  afternoon  drink.  To  it 
have  been  added  some  cakes  and  bonbons  and  fruit, 
together  with  some  Russian  delicacies  with  unpronounce- 
able names.  These  refreshments  easily  take  the  place  of 
a  lunch  between  the  late  breakfast  and  later  dinner  usual 
in  fashionable  Muscovite  houses. 

Had  de  Verney  the  ease  of  mind  to  note  the  furniture 
and  decorations  of  the  room,  he  would  see  that  they  were 
even  more  gracefully  magnificent  than  at  Ora's  palace  on 
the  Frontanka.  Anxious  as  he  now  feels,  he  notices  that 
the  china  is  Sevres,  the  plate  and  samovar  massive  silver, 
and  the  table-linen  of  the  most  delicate  damask. 

Vassilissa  approaches  him,  bearing  a  cup  of  tea  and 
some  sweets  on  a  little  salver.  Placing  these  upon  a  small 
table  near  him,  the  girl  gives  him  a  grateful  glance. 

The  room  being  very  large,  they  are  somewhat  apart 
from  all  the  others.  De  Verney  says  aloud  :  "  Two  lumps 
of  sugar,  please,"  and,  while  she  is  giving  them  to  him, 
whispers  :  "  Has  anything  new  happened  ? " 

The  girl  shakes  her  head,  and  is  moving  from  him.  He 
calls  her  back  by  "  Excuse  me,  another  lump  !  "  and  mut- 
ters :  "  As  soon  as  possible,  I  must  speak  to  you." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  293 

Her  eyes  answer  "  Yes,"  as  she  turns  to  minister  to  the 
wants  of  the  Princess  Platoff,  who  is  apparently  engaged 
in  a  flirtation  with  young  Beresford,  who  sits  tete-a-tete 
with  her,  gazing  at  her  dark  eyes,  despite  an  occasional 
malignant  scowl  old  Sergius  throws  at  them,  though  Herr 
Zamaroff  is  still  talking  to  him  in  an  undertone. 

A  moment  after  this,  however,  Platoff  gets  up  and 
saunters  over,  cup  in  hand,  to  de  Verney,  and  enters  into 
a  casual  conversation  with  him,  to  which  Maurice  answers 
perhaps  rather  wildly  ;  for,  having  recovered  from  the 
astonishment  of  his  encounter  with  Louise,  he  is  now 
devoting  his  mind  to  one  problem  :  How  to  get  an  in- 
sight into  what  is  going  on  under  the  outward  placid, 
social  surface  of  this  house.  Every  faculty  of  his  being 
is  devoted  to  obtaining  some  clew  to  this  matter — at  pres- 
ent so  curiously  intangible,  so  mysteriously  vague.  De 
Verney  drinks  his  tea,  while  his  eyes  and  ears  note  every- 
thing that  takes  place  in  the  room. 

After  a  moment  or  two,  Platoff  gives  a  sniff  of  laughter: 
he  has  chanced  to  glance  at  Herr  Zamaroff.  Maurice 
follows  his  gaze,  and  sees  that  the  financier,  whose  man- 
ners are  uncompromisingly  plebeian,  is  surreptitiously 
wiping  his  hands  on  the  table-cloth. 

Sergius  walks  to  his  niece,  and,  as  he  whispers  a  word 
or  two  to  her,  de  Verney  notes  that  the  only  part  of  the 
girl  which  he  can  see  becomes  curiously  affected.  It  is 
her  lovely  foot,  which,  protruding  from  her  morning  robe 
in  light  silk  stocking  and  bronze  slipper,  has  been  patting 
nervously  a  footstool  upon  which  it  has  carelessly  rested. 
He  has  watched  this,  not  because  it  was  beautiful,  but 
because  since  his  entrance  Ora  has  carefully  avoided  his 
glance,  and  has  persistently  turned  her  head  away  from 
his  eyes  ;  therefore,  as  he  has  wished  to  note  how  anything 
taking  place  affects  her,  he  has  been  compelled  to  rely 
upon  the  actions  of  her  little  foot. 

As  the  prince  whispers  to  her,  the  foot  stops  its  beating 


294  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

and  presses  itself  into  the  cushion  of  the  footstool,  as  if 
sudden  determination  had  come  to  it.  The  girl  says  : 
"  Vassilissa,  pass  a  napkin  to  Herr  Zamaroff." 

Maurice  immediately  asks  this  question  of  himself  : 
"  Why  the  deuce  does  giving  a  napkin  to  that  ill-man- 
nered old  banker  affect  the  young  countess  ?  "  On  his 
first  seeing  Zamaroff,  he  had  thought  it  curious  to  find 
him  received  in  this  exclusive  house,  as  a  friend,  by 
Platoff,  who  was  an  aristocrat  in  all  his  ideas,  and 
who  considered  his  family  one  of  the  most  noble  in 
Russia. 

Before  he  has  time  to  speculate  more  on  this,  Ora  rises 
and  says  :  "  Vassilissa,  you  are  forgetful  this  afternoon. 
Monsieur  de  Verney  and  the  rest." 

On  this  the  peasant  girl  brings  to  Maurice  a  beautiful 
napkin  of  silken  damask,  more  like  an  exquisite  handker- 
chief than  anything  else,  with  its  delicate  yellow-white 
center,  and  hem  decorated  with  painted  violets  and  blush 
rosebuds,  save  in  one  corner,  which  bears  the  crest  and 
motto  of  the  Lapuschkins. 

"  Just  the  thing  !  "  cries  Princess  Platoff.  "  Monsieur 
Beresford,  help  me  tie  my  bonbons  up  in  this  !  " 

As  this  goes  on,  Ora  Lapuschkin,  as  if  having  made  up 
her  mind  to  some  definite  line  of  action,  and  feeling  strong 
enough  to  pursue  it,  comes  over  to  the  great  fireplace,  in 
which  a  bright  fire  of  pine-logs  is  burning  ;  for,  though 
warm  in  the  sunshine,  the  day,  in  the  shade  and  sea 
breeze  fresh  from  the  Finnish  Gulf,  is  still  chilly. 

Leaning  against  this,  near  which  de  Verney  sits,  she 
turns  upon  him  her  beautiful  eyes,  smiles  a  little  piteous 
smile,  and  says  :  "  I  thought  you  were  to  leave  St.  Peters- 
burg yesterday.  I  wrote  you  my  fare — farewell.  Did 
you  not  get  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  am  going  to-day,"  murmurs  Maurice. 
Next  he  pointedl}*  whispers:  "  My  yacht  is  ready  !  I've  a 
carriage  at  the  door  ;  Vassilissa  and  you,  quick  ! " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  295 

At  this  she  astonishes  him,  for  she  cries  out,  laughing : 
"  What  do  you  all  think  !  Monsieur  de  Verney  wishes  us 
to  go  on  a  yacht  cruise  with  him  to-day,  upon  the  rough 
waters  of  the  gulf.  It  is  too  cruel  a  proposition  to  a  girl 
who  gets  sea-sick  at  the  mouth  of  Neva,  and  who,  if  the 
vessel  pitched  a  little,  would  die  of  fright." 

Here  Maurice  catches  some  curious  looks  between 
Zamaroff  and  Sergius,  though  he  is  too  miserable  for  a 
moment  to  think  what  they  may  mean  ;  for  he  sees  this 
girl  has  for  some  reason  desperately  determined  to  cut 
herself  off  from  any  chance  of  his  aid. 

Still  he  recovers  his  senses 'in  time  to  note,  in  rather 
a  vague  manner,  that  the  Hebrew  financier  now  strolls 
onto  the  terrace,  wiping  his  mustache  with  his  napkin, 
and,  after  getting  outside,  forgetfully  places  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  wanders  off,  doubtless  to  enjoy  the  beautiful 
garden. 

During  this,  Sergius  is  saying  to  him  :  "  Pooh,  my  dear 
de  Verney,  little  Ora  has  never  been  at  sea." 

"  Yes,"  cries  Beresford,  "  she's  like  the  captain  of  the 
Pinafore,  '  never,  never  sick  at  sea '  !  Ever  heard  that 
opera  ?  It's  all  the  rage  now  in  London,  princess  !  Aw- 
fully jolly,  don't  yer  know — by  Sullivan,  don't  yer  see  !  " 
And  he  hums  the  captain's  ditty  to  Louise,  who  says 
she'll  play  an  accompaniment  for  him  during  the  after- 
noon. 

"  Won't  you  do  it  now  ?  "  asks  the  boy,  with  eager  eyes. 

She  laughs  into  them  :  "  After  we've  eaten  the  bon- 
bons !  "  And  the  two  saunter  into  the  grounds  together, 
Cuthbert  carrying  the  sweets.  A  moment  after,  her  voice 
comes  in  through  the  open  window  in  a  little  playful 
scream  :  "  Oh,  you  haven't  tied  this  napkin  tight  !  Our 
marrons  glacis  are  dropping  into  the  rose-bushes." 

At  these  words  Platoff,  who  has  been  looking,  scowling 
off  and  on,  at  his  wife  and  the  young  Englishman,  mut- 
ters something  about  the  garden,  and  strides  out  after 


296  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

them  ;  pocketing,  as  he  goes,  his  napkin  in  an  abstracted 
way. 

For  a  moment  Ora,  Vassilissa,  and  de  Verney  are  to- 
gether. 

"  Your  guardian  is  rather  jealous — so  jealous  that  he 
mistakes  his  napkin  for  his  pocket-handkerchief  !  "  re- 
marks Maurice  with  a  sneering  laugh  ;  for  the  girl  has 
made  him  so  unhappy  that  he  is  not,  perhaps,  sorry  to 
see  a  man,  whom  he  thinks  perhaps  the  cause  of  it,  mis- 
erable also.  "  You've  also  had  a  charming  governess, 
Mademoiselle  la  Comtesse  !  " 

Ora  pays  little  attention  to  this,  though,  at  the  mention 
of  Platoff's  absent-mindedness  in  regard  to  his  napkin, 
her  face  has  lost  a  little  of  its  pallor,  for  she  is  now 
unnaturally  pale.  She  turns  to  Vassilissa,  and  gives  her 
some  errand  to  do,  and  her  foster-sister  leaves  the  room 
reluctantly. 

Then  she  sounds  a  bell,  walks  straight  up  to  de  Verney 
and  astounds  him  ;  for  she  says,  in  a  low,  sad  voice  : 
"  Maurice,  a  last  favor — leave  this  house  at  once  !  " 

"  Never  !  the  yacht  awaits  both  you  and  me  !  My 
God,  you  don't  doubt  me  !  Dear  one,  you  don't  doubt 
me  !  "  he  mutters  to  her.  "  Tell  me  how  to  save  you  !  " 

"  Save  yourself — that  is  all,"  the  girl  cries  to  him. 
"  Save  yourself  !  " 

"  And  you  also,"  he  says  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

Here  she  horrifies  him  by  gasping:  "  Too  late  !  Do  you 
suppose  I  would  have  fled  from  you — if  it  had — not  been 
— too  late  ?  Do  you  suppose  now  they  would  ever  let  me 
go — alive  ?  " 

She  pauses  here,  and  by  a  mighty  effort  controls  her- 
self, for  the  footman  has  entered.  "  Order  Monsieur 
de  Verney's  carriage  to  the  door !  "  she  commands  ;  and, 
when  the  man  has  gone,  comes  to  Maurice  and  cries  : 
"  Good-bye  !  I  know  you'd  sacrifice  yourself  for  me  ; 
but  I'm  not  selfish  enough  for  that.  Good-bye !  "  and  flies 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  297 

from  him  to  a  little  side  door,  for  he  has  turned  toward 
her  to  hold  her  to  him,  and  beg  her,  by  her  love  for 
him,  to  confide  in  him,  and  give  him  a  chance  of  saving 
her.  Fearing  this,  she  opens  the  little  side  door  of  the 
apartment,  and  whispers  to  him  words  that  would  stupefy 
him  if  he  would  but  let  them  :  "  Read  about  me  in  the 
papers  to-morrow  ;  but,  as  you  love  your  life,  go  !  " 

Then  Ora  Lapuschkin  gets  her  wish.  He  says  coolly : 
"  Very  well  ;  with  your  permission,  my  dear  countess, 
I'll  smoke  here  till  my  carriage,  you  so  kindly  ordered 
for  me,  comes  to  the  door."  And  quietly  producing  a 
cigar,  lights  it  and  sits  down. 

She  mutters  :  "  He  does  not  love  me  !  My  God  ! 
But  it  is  better  thus  !  "  and  flies  from  him  with  despair 
and  agony  on  her  beautiful  face.  She  has  her  wish,  and 
it  has  broken  her  heart— she  is  a  woman. 

A  few  moments  after,  the  footman  comes  in  and 
announces  his  carriage. 

"  Tell  it  to  wait,"  he  says,  and  tosses  the  man  a 
rouble. 

He  mutters  :  "  I'll  save  her  in  spite  of  herself — in  spite 
of  the  unknown  !  What  is  the  unknown  ?  Without  I  know 
that  I'm — God  help  me — useless,  aimless  !  Since  she 
won't  tell  me,  I  can  find  it  out  better  if  she  thinks  I've 
gone.  I'll — I'll  smoke  !  "  and  does  so  in  those  short, 
quick  puffs  that  show  how  nervously,  actively,  and  un- 
successfully his  mind  is  working  ;  while  all  the  time 
upon  the  brow  of  this  contemplative,  quiet,  smoking  man 
is  a  sweat  of  agony. 

Upon  this  reverie  Mr.  Beresford  breaks.  He  has  just 
come  in  from  the  garden,  muttering  to  himself  :  "  Look 
here,  de  Verney,  old  fellah,  that  prince  is  driving  me  mad 
with  his  jealousy,  don't  yer  know  ?  " 

Maurice  looks  up  with  a  start ;  he  wants  some  infor- 
mation, and  here  is  the  man  to  give  it. 

"  Yes,  and  you  are  driving  him  mad  also,"  replies  the 


298  THAT  FRENCHMAN! 

Frenchman,  and  gives  the  young  man  some  good  advice. 
"You'd  better  leave  this  house,  Cuthbert,"  he  says. 
"  Platoff  has  the  jealousy  of  an  old  man  !  " 

"  Pshaw,  I  can  hold  my  own  against  him.  I  have  the 
love  of  a  young  man.  Of  course,  this  is  between  our- 
selves, don't  yer  see  !  "  Here  he  looks  smilingly  at 
Maurice,  and  utters  proudly  :  "  An  amour  with  a  princess 
is  the  making  of  a  diplomate,  don't  yer  know  !  " 

"  More  generally  the  breaking  of  one,"  returns  de 
Verney.  "  But  can  you  tell  me  what  the  princess  did 
with  her  napkin  you  carried  away  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  Jove  !  that  was  funny.  After  we  got  into  the 
garden,  I  was  perhaps  a  little  ambitious — just  for  a  kiss 
of  the  hand,  yer  know — nothing  more  ;  she's  so  awfully 
fetching,  don't  yer  see  !  And  I  was  struggling  for  her 
little  white  hand,  you  understand  — Parisian  fashion — 
very  desperate  and  broken-hearted,  don't  yer  see  !  Well, 
and  she  tossed  me  all  the  candies  and  said :  *  My  poor 
boy,  if  we  had  met  before, — but  those  are  sweeter  than 
my  hand  would  be  to  you,'  and " 

"  And  the  napkin,"  interjects  de  Verney  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  That's  the  point  of  it,  old  fellah. 
Marguerite  was  so  agitated  she  wiped  the  tears  from  her 
eyes  with  that  napkin,  and  in  her  emotion  put  it  in  her 
pocket." 

"  Marguerite  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that's  the  princess's  name.  She  was  Mademoi- 
selle Marguerite  de  Brian  before  old  Platoff  got  on  his 
knees  to  her." 

"  Oh  !  " 

A  moment  after  Maurice  suggests :  "  These  napkins  are 
rather  peculiar  in  their  design  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  never  saw  any  so  pretty  before  !  " 

"  No  !    You  were  here  yesterday  ? " 

"  Yes ;  but  they  had  plain  ones  then.  These  came 
from  town  this  morning." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  299 

"  Ah,  now  I  see,"  interjects  de  Verney.  "That  is  the 
reason  they  are  taken  as  souvenirs." 

"  Souvenirs  ?     Oh — ah,  yes  !     Now  I  understand." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Why,  Marguerite  laughingly  said,  if  I  was  a  very  good 
boy  to-day,  she'd  give  me  hers  to  remember  her  by— 
gage  d* amour — don't  yer  see  ?  " 

"  She  didn't  give  it  you  at  once,  only  promised  it  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Of  course — reward  of  merit.  They're  awful  hand- 
some, aren't  they  ?  "  remarks  Beresford,  picking  one  up 
from  a  table  near  him.  "  Must  have  cost  a  pot  of 
money  !  I  heard  the  steward  giving  the  flunkies  the 
deuce  about  'em  this  morning." 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  Y-es  !  I  couldn't  see  myself  why  he  was  in  such  a 
rage  ;  but,  all  the  same,  he  was.  They  hadn't  got  here, 
don't  yer  know  !  " 

"  WTho  is  the  steward  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  his  name  ?  He  is  some  Dutch- 
man or  other. — By  the  bye,  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  just 
step  out  to  the  conservatory  ;  I  think  I  see  a  parasol 
going  there — you  know  who,  old  fellah."  And  with  that, 
Cuthbert,  who  has  been  looking  out  of  the  window  the 
whole  interview,  strides  hurriedly  from  the  room,  leaving 
de  Verney  with  a  puzzled  expression  on  his  face. 

He  picks  up  his  napkin  that  is  on  a  table  near  him, 
and  looks  at  it  carefully.  Beyond  its  beauty  there  is 
nothing  remarkable  in  the  white  silken  web,  with  its 
pretty  border  of  flowers  and  the  Lapuschkin  crest. 
"  Curious,"  he  thinks  to  himself  as  he  smokes  :  "  in  one 
way  or  another,  Zamaroff,  Platoff,  and  his  wife  each  took 
one  of  these  from  the  room  ;  and  people  in  Russia  are 
no  more  apt  to  carry  off  the  napkins  than  in  other 
places." 

Just  here  another  surprise  comes  to  him. 


3OO  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

At  one  of  the  open  windows  of  the  room  appears  a 
man  whom  he  has  sometimes  seen  in  attendance  upon 
Prince  Dimitri  Menchikoff  as  his  body-servant. 

This  fellow  has  a  typical  Russian  face,  very  honest, 
simple,  and  determined,  but  very  sad.  He  comes  in  and 
looks  about  the  room,  and  seeing  de  Verney,  whom  he 
probably  knows  by  sight,  mumbles  as  if  frightened : 
"  Your  pardon,  your  high  nobility  ;  but  I  come  to  remove 
the  tea-things." 

"  All  right,  "  returns  Maurice.  "  Help  yourself  !  " 
But  it  strikes  him  as  curious,  that  Menchikoffs  servant 
should  be  doing  the  work  of  Ora's  domestics,  of  whom 
there  are  evidently  plenty  about  the  house  and  grounds  ; 
consequently,  as  he  smokes,  he  turns  one  eye  on  the  man, 
and  catches  him,  after  moving  about  the  various  plates, 
tea-things,  and  eatables  with  considerable  clatter  and  in 
a  nervous  way,  slinking  out  of  the  room  with  one  of  the 
napkins  under  his  jacket. 

With  this,  his  interest  in  the  napkins  jumps  tenfold. 
He  hurriedly  examines  his  again  ;  but,  go  over  it  as  he 
may,  it  is  still  a  disappointment.  "  If  I  had  a  micro- 
scope ! "  he  mutters.  But  at  this  moment  Vassilissa 
comes  in  and  astonishes  him.  She  takes  another  of  the 
napkins  and  goes  out. 

He  calls  to  her  to  come  back — he  would  speak  to  her  ; 
but  she  does  not  answer  him,  and,  on  his  getting  up  to 
approach  her,  gives  him  a  disdainful  glance  and  disap- 
pears. 

"  Egad  !  "  he  thinks  with  a  puzzled  expression.  "  Vas- 
silissa pockets  her  dividend  in  napkins  also." 

He  looks  about,  and  finds  that  his  is  the  only  one  left 
in  the  room  ;  and,  seeing  some  one  approaching  from  the 
garden,  he  quickly  slips  it  in  his  pocket  and  sits  down  to 
see  what  will  happen. 

A  moment  after,  a  man  of  German  appearance  comes 
in,  and  looks  about  with  an  air  of  authority.  Then,  see- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  301 

ing  de  Verney,  he  remarks  :  "  Your  pardon,  sir,  but  these 
careless  servants  need  looking  after  ;  "  all  the  time  his 
eyes  wandering  furtively  about  the  room,  as  if  seeking 
something  they  cannot  find.  Then  he  goes  on  again : 
"  You  have  not  seen  a  napkin  in  the  room,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,"  mutters  Maurice  in  a  half -sleepy  tone,  lazily 
puffing  his  weed. 

"  Strange  !  "  remarks  the  man.  "  These  napkins  were 
very  expensive.  Five  have  been  returned  to  the  house- 
keeper ;  one  is  lacking  to  complete  the  six  ;  "  and,  after 
another  and  more  careful  search,  wanders  uneasily  from 
the  room. 

"  How  he  lied  to  me  !  Five  have  been  returned  ;  one 
is  lacking  to  complete  the  six,"  cogitates  de  Verney. 
Here  he  gives  a  sudden  start  :  he  knows  that  most  nihil- 
ist circles  have  generally  that  number  of  members,  now 
that  they  have  been  divided  for  safety  into  small  groups; 
each  person  being  a  member  of  only  two  of  them,  and 
thus  furnishing  the  means  of  communication  between 
them,  yet  under  no  circumstance  being  able  to  betray 
more  than  his  immediate  associates — twelve  in  all,  though 
there  may  be  thousands  of  brethren  about  him. 

"  Six  !  "  he  mutters,  and  takes  out  his  napkin  for 
further  examination ;  but  this  is  no  more  successful  than 
the  others  he  has  made.  He  drops  the  white  silken  dam- 
ask on  his  lap,  and  thinks  with  all  his  soul.  This  man's 
face  is  curiously  familiar  to  him  ;  but,  rack  his  brain 
how  he  may,  he  can't  remember  just  where  he  has  seen 
it.  From  his  appearance  and  manner,  he  is  doubtless 
the  German  steward  of  Ora,  the  one  of  whom  Cuthbert 
spoke  as  giving  the  flunkies  the  devil  for  the  non-arrival 
of  the  napkins.  What  have  these  cursed  bits  of  damask 
to  do  with  his  love's  fate  and  his  own  ?  Oh,  for  a  clew 
to  this  riddle  !  a  grip — just  a  little  grip  on  this  mys- 
tery! 

The    harder   he   thinks,  the  harder  he  smokes.     And 


302  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

now  to  him  comes  one  of  those  little  accidents  by  which 
our  lives  are  often  changed  for  better  or  for  worse  ;  by 
some  careless,  nervous  movement,  he  drops  the  hot  ashes 
of  the  cigar  on  this  white  woven  thing  on  his  lap  that 
puzzles  him.  With  equal  impatience  he  tosses  the  ashes 
on  the  floor,  but,  as  he  does  so,  gives  a  little  gasp  of  joy 
— the  heat  from  the  ashes  has  developed  a  single  character 
on  the  napkin;  a  letter — just  one  little  letter — but  the 
secret  is  his.  On  each  of  these  napkins  is  a  message, 
written  in  sympathetic  ink,  VISIBLE  ONLY  ON  THE  APPLI- 
CATION OF  HEAT. 

*'  The  grip  of  the  secret ! "  he  mutters,  and  in  a  second  is 
kneeling  before  the  blazing  pine-logs,  holding  up  to  them 
the  white  napkin,  on  which  soon  appear,  in  a  peculiarly 
Russian,  but  he  thinks  disguised,  hand,  these  sentences, 
that  make  him — strong  man  as  he  is — grow  pale,  not  with 
fear,  but  with  excitement ;  for  this  is  what  he  sees  : 

"  He  comes  to-day  ! 

"  The  one  chosen  by  lot  for  his  executioner  shall  be  told  who  he  is, 
and  then  shall  execute  our  sentence — or  shall  suffer  the  fate  of  those 
who  disobey  ! 

"A  second  circle  has  been  notified,  that  they  may  assist  in  this 
righteous  taking  off  of  one  who  deserves  death. 
"  By  order  of 

"  THE  RUSSIAN  NATIONAL  COMMITTEE." 

As  he  reads  this  he  hears  a  slight  noise  behind  him,  and 
feels  on  the  back  of  his  neck  the  breath  of  something. 
Glancing  up,  the  mirror  on  the  mantel  over  his  head 
reflects  an  arm  holding  a  long  knife  that  is  flashing  to  his 
heart. 

The  lightning  quickness  that  made  him  a  victor  in  the 
arena  comes  to  him  again.  He  reaches  up,  seizes  the 
wrist,  and  stops  it,  the  knife  within  an  inch  of  his  breast ; 
then,  with  an  old  but  not  forgotten  trick,  gives  this  wrist 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  303 

such  a  wrenching  twist  that  the  knife  drops  from  the 
grasp  of  the  man  who  had  struck  at  him,  and  he  hears 
behind  him  a  choked-down  groan  of  anguish. 

"  The  fracture  of  the  small  bone  of  the  wrist  is  gener- 
ally painful.  I  know  exactly  the  effect  of  that  grip,  my 
murderous  friend!"  he  says  lightly;  and  turning  round 
now  recognizes  with  a  start  in  the  creature  before  him, 
whose  eyes  gaze  at  his  with  wild  and  desperate  intensity, 
the  chemist  of  the  Rue  de  Maubeuge — the  one  he  has  last 
seen  in  Mazas  prison. 

Then  he  goes  on  quickly :  "  Before  inflammation  sets 

in,  I  want  your  signature.  But  first "  Here  he  picks 

up  the  long  carving-knife  which  this  man  had  taken  from 
the  tea-table  to  kill  him,  and  upon  which  Hermann's  eyes 
are  once  more  gazing  as  if  he  would  like  to  use  it  again. 
"  Now  let  me  examine  !  " 

As  de  Verney  approaches  him,  the  German,  with  a  snarl, 
is  about  to  put  his  left,  uninjured  hand  behind  him  ;  but 
Maurice,  seizing  this,  mutters  :  "  Try  that,  and  I'll  break 
your  other  wrist !  "  Then,  despite  his  struggles,  the 
chevalier  searches  him,  and  pulling  out  a  revolver  from 
his  pocket,  laughs  harshly  and  says:  "Ah  ha!  concealed 
weapons.  By  General  Gourko's  last  proclamation — Sibe- 
ria !  " 

Next,  in  a  very  stern  voice — for  at  this  the  man  has 
grown  restive  again — he  cries :  "  In  front  of  that  table, 
sir  ! — so  !  "  and  leading  Hermann  to  a  writing-stand,  on 
which  are  paper,  ink,  and  pens,  he  stations  the  man  on 
one  side  of  it.  Seating  himself  opposite  this  conspirator, 
Maurice  mutters  :  "  Move  hands,  feet,  or  tongue  while 
I  write,  and  I'll  blow  your  brains  out  ! — I  shoot  equally 
well  with  either  hand."  Then,  with  one  eye  and  Her- 
mann's own  revolver  pointed  at  the  German,  Maurice  de 
Verney,  devoting  his  other  eye  to  his  work,  hurriedly 
writes  ;  once  or  twice  considering  for  a  moment,  then  his 
pen  going  on  to  the  finish. 


304  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Now,"  he  says,  "  sign  that !  "  in  a  voice  that  makes 
the  other  start,  and  gaze  at  him. 

"  What  is  it?  Do  you  suppose  I'm  going  to  sign  with- 
out knowing  what  it  is  ? "  mutters  Hermann. 

"All  right !  I'll  read  it,"  returns  de  Verney;  which  he 
does,  while  the  German's  eyes  open  in  astonishment ;  for 
it  is  as  follows  : 

"I,  Hermann  Margo — alias  Schultz — alias,  etc.,  educated  chemist 
at  Heidelberg,  afterward  in  Berlin,  afterward  in  Paris  in  '68,  where  I, 
in  conjunction  with  my  sister,  Louise  Tourney,  the  wife  of  Auguste 
Lieber,  and  now  the  Princess  Sergius  Platoff,  attempted  the  life  of 
the  Prince  Imperial  of  France " 

"  Herr  Gott  in  Himmel !  How  did  you  know  that  ?  " 
gasps  the  German;  then  gives  a  great  cry — "  Ah !  I  know 
you  !  You  who  betrayed  us  in  Paris — Mouchard!  You 
are  a  Russian  police  spy  now  ! "  and  would  fly  at 
Maurice's  throat  were  it  not  for  the  pistol  that  stands  in 
the  way. 

"  I  am  not  connected  with  the  Russian  Government," 
returns  the  Frenchman.  "  I'm  trying  to  save  the  innocent, 
now,  as  I  did  then.  But  listen — for  your  own  life,  listen  /  " 
and  he  reads  on: 

" — declare  that  as  steward  of  the  Countess  Ora  Lapuschkin,  I  have 
caused  to  meet  under  her  roof  a  nihilist  circle,  of  which  I  am 
member,  for  the  purposes  of  murder — without  either  her  knowledge 
or  consent. 

"June  3d,  1879." 

Then  he  says  :  "  Sign  that !  " 

"  And  why  ?  "  asks  Hermann,  with  a  grin  of  malicious 
rage  even  in  his  pain,  for  he  notes  that  Maurice's  voice 
has  become  low  and  tender  as  he  has  uttered  the  name 
of  Ora  Lapuschkin.  "  Why  should  I  sign  that,  Monsieur 
Police  Spy?" 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  305 

"  Because,"  returns  de  Verney,  "  if  you  do  I  give  you 
my  passport  to  leave  Russia  !  "  And  he  shows  him  the 
document,  remarking:  "With  your  chemical  knowledge 
you  can  alter  this  to  suit  your  description.  This  means 
for  you  ESCAPE  AND  LIFE  ! " 

"  And  if  not  ? "  queries  the  steward. 

"  You  leave  this  room  in  the  custody  of  the  police;  and 
you  can  guess  the  rest,"  replies  Maurice,  with  a  French 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  I'll — I'll  sign  !  "  mutters  Hermann  suddenly;  and  he 
does  so,  as  de  Verney  touches  the  bell  and  asks  one  of 
the  servants  to  send  to  him  Frangois,  who  is  waiting  in  his 
carriage  at  the  door. 

Looking  over  the  document,  and  examining  the  signa- 
ture, he  gives  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  remarks  :  "  This  may 
prevent  trouble  to  your  mistress  coming  from  your 
crime." 

"  Perhaps !  "  says  Hermann,  with  a  grim  smile,  that  does 
not  make  Maurice  more  easy  respecting  the  woman  he 
loves. 

"  You  know  that  this  is  an  order  from  the  Russian 
National  Committee — the  highest  group  of  nihilists — to 
another  circle  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly  !     I'm  not  fool  enough  to  deny  that." 

"  For  the  commission  of  a  murder  ! "  he  says,  looking 
at  the  napkin  he  has  in  his  hand. 

"  Pardon  me,"  replies  Hermann  ;  '*  the  order  for  an 
execution  !  " 

"  Well,  execution  if  you  like  ;  but  to  have  this  in  your 
possession  means  death  if  discovered." 

"  Of  course." 

"  Now,  you're  too  old  a  conspirator  to  carry  with  you, 
after  use,  this  ticket  to  Siberia  or  the  scaffold  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  I  should  have  destroyed  it !  "  mur- 
murs the  German. 

"  Burnt  it !  "  cries  Maurice. 


306  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  No,  I  am  a  chemist.  I  should  have  dissolved  the 
sympathetic  ink,  and  made  the  napkin  innocent  !  "  replies 
Hermann,  who  is  almost  as  proud  of  his  science  as  of  his 
conspiracy. 

"  A — ah  !  "  cries  Maurice  suddenly.  Then  he  looks  at 
him  in  doubt,  and  mutters  :  "  You  have  no  acids  ? " 

"  Certainly  not  !  I  don't  need  them.  The  Comtesse 
Ora  uses  chloroform  for  her  nervous  headaches — she  has 
them  often  lately,"  the  man  says  significantly. 

"  Then  chloroform  will  wash  this  out  ?  "  asks  Maurice 
eagerly. 

"  Soak  that  napkin  in  chloroform,  leave  it  in  the  sun 
for  ten  minutes,  and  not  a  trace  of  that  writing  will 
remain,"  remarks  Hermann. 

4<Of  course  you  should  know — you  wrote  them," 
rejoins  Maurice. 

"  Not  at  all  !  "  cries  Hermann.  "  Don't  you  suppose 
I'm  chemist  enough  to  know  of  what  that  ink  is  made,  by 
seeing  the  color  of  the  writing  ?  I  tell  you  chloroform 
will  destroy  that  ink  ;  chlorine  is  the  great  bleaching 
agent  of  the  world— on  my  honor  !  " 

"On  the  honor  of  a  conspirator!"  sneers  de  Verney, 
who  is  very  anxious  to  be  certain  on  this  point. 

"On  the  honor  of  a  CHEMIST  !  "  cries  the  scientist;  and 
Maurice  knows  he  has  told  him  the  truth.  As  a  political 
agitator  he  might  lie,  but  as  an  exponent  of  chemical  fact 
— never ! 

At  this  moment  Fran£ois  comes  into  the  room,  and, 
saluting  in  his  bluff,  military  style,  remarks  :  "  At  your 
orders  !  " 

De  Verney  thinks  a  minute,  and  then  speaks  rapidly  : 

"  Fran£ois,"  he  says,  "  you  will  put  this  gentleman  in 
my  carriage,  and  escort  him  to  my — my  old  office  at  the 
French  Embassy  ;  it  is  unoccupied  now.  That  building 
would  be  safer  than  my  apartments  ;  my  waiter  and 
cook  are  spies.  There  you  will  lock  him  in  ;  and  if  he 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  307 

tries  to  speak  to  a  living  being  on  the  road  you  will  blow 
out  his  brains  with  his  own  pistol  !  "  Here  he  passes  to 
his  servant  the  revolver  of  which  he  has  despoiled  the 
chemist ;  and  goes  on,  a  little  tremble  in  his  voice,  but 
determinedly,  as  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  a  certain 
desperate  course,  and  would  not  be  stopped  in  it :  "  If  I 
do  not  return  by  to-morrow  morning,  give  this  gentleman 
this — my  passport  to  leave  Russia  !  " 

Here  Frangois,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  shakes  his 
head  at  his  master.  He  mutters  :  "  That  is  your  safety 
here — I'll  not  take  it  !  "  and  refuses  to  put  his  hand 
on  it. 

"  You  must !  He's  got  my  word,  and  I'll  keep  it. 
Don't  you  dare  to  dispute  me  in  my  need  !  "  cries  de 
Verney,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "  You  were  a  soldier.  Obey 
orders  ! "  And  this  time,  the  old  habit  of  discipline  com- 
ing to  the  veteran,  he  takes  the  paper  from  his  master, 
but  mutters  :  "  You  risk  yourself  for  him  !  "  gazing  with 
savage  eyes  at  Hermann,  who  has  a  sneering  smile  on  his 
face. 

Then  Maurice  goes  hurriedly  on,  for  he  is  anxious  to 
get  the  business  through  ;  he  has  many  things  to  accom- 
plish now  ;  he  is  at  last  at  work.  "  Frangois,  attend  to  this. 
This  is  the  most  careful  of  all.  After  you  have  given 
this  man  twenty-four  hours  to  fly  the  country,  give  this 
document,"  here  he  hands  Hermann's  confession  to  his 
servant,  "  to  the  French  minister,  and  ask  his  Excellency 
to  forward  it  to  General  Gourko,  the  Governor  of  St. 
Petersburg.  You  understand  ? " 

"  I  do,  sir,"  mutters  Frangois  tenderly  to  his  master, 
and  "  This  way,  sir  !  "  savagely  to  Hermann. 

Here  de  Verney,  who  is  considerate  in  everything, 
says  suddenly  to  the  German:  "  Have  you  money  enough 
for  your  traveling  expenses  ? " 

"  Plenty,"  mutters  Hermann  ;  "  I  shall  go  to  the  United 
States." 


308  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"Ah,  yes  !  That  government  would  probably  suit  even 
you." 

"  No,  it  wouldn't  !     I  shall  again  conspire." 
What  !  in  that  republic  ?  " 

"  They  have  rich  men  there,"  mutters  the  fanatic, 
grinding  his  teeth.  "  All  governments  are  bad  ;  I  tear 
them  down." 

"  My  poor  creature,  take  my  advice — let  Uncle  Sam 
alone.  He's  a  long-suffering  old  boy  ;  he's  very  hard  to 
start,  but  he's  worse  to  stop.  He'll  send  you  to  a  hotter 
place  than  Siberia."  Then  in  a  changed  tone  Maurice 
says  :  "  Francois,  this  apostle  of  destruction  will  need  a 
surgeon  when  he  gets  in  town  ;  send  for  the  one  employed 
by  the  embassy — he's  discreet." 

"  In  front  of  me,  sir  !  "  utters  Frangois  sternly.  But 
as  Hermann  is  going  out,  de  Verney  suddenly  draws  him 
to  one  side  and  whispers  :  "  You  don't  know  who  wrote 
on  the  napkins  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Do  you  know  who  is  to  be  killed  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  His  name  ?  " 

"  Dimitri  Menchikcff,  Prefect  of  the  Secret  Police  !  " 

"  My  God  !     Is  any  one  yet  appointed  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  the  lots  were  drawn  last  night." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  Find  that  out  yourself,  police  spy  !  That's  your 
business.  I've  kept  my  part  of  the  bargain  :  you  keep 
yours,  and  let  me  go  !  "  mutters  Hermann.  "  You'll  be 
delighted  at  the  discovery.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  You'll  be  happy 
when  you  know."  And,  mocking  de  Verney,  this  apostle 
of  freedom  is  marched  away  in  front  of  Frangois,  who 
puts  him  into  Maurice's  carriage  and  drives  him  into  St. 
Petersburg. 

As  for  de  Verney,  he  is  more  light-hearted  than  he  has 
been  since  he  has  found  his  love  would  not  or  could  not 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  309 

fly  with  him  :  for  he  is  at  work,  and  he  has  that  wonderful 
power  that  wins  more  prizes  in  this  life  than  either  luck 
or  genius — that  power  of  developing  greater  force  the 
more  the  opposition  ;  of  fighting  the  harder  and  staying 
the  longer,  the  more  what  opposes  him  fights  and  stays  ; 
of  rising  to  the  situation  and  conquering  it. 

He  ponders  as  to  who  has  drawn  the  lot  to  kill  Dimitri 
Menchikoff — Zamaroff,  Platoff,  Louise,  Dimitri's  serv- 
ant, and  Vassilissa  carried  off  the  nihilist  messages.  It 
must  be  one  of  the  five.  He  himself,  he  remembers  with 
a  shiver,  has  the  other  "  ticket  to  Siberia  "  in  his  pocket, 
and  it  is  cold  and  uncomfortable  ;  for  he  burnt  his  ships 
behind  him  when  he  gave  up  his  passport  to  Hermann, 
and  sent  Francois  away.  But  it  was  worth  it  !  Her- 
mann's confession  in  the  hands  of  an  honest  soldier— as  he 
believes  Gourko  is — will  surely  save  her  from  the  conse- 
quences of  so  small  a  crime  as  not  denouncing  her  uncle 
and  guardian,  though  these  meetings  have  taken  place 
under  Ora's  roof. 

What  to  do  next?  —  Warn  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  of 
course  ;  bargain  with  him  for  Ora's  safety,  for  the  little 
crime  of  not  denouncing  old  Platoff  ;  and  save  the  head 
of  secret  police.  But  here  another  curious  question 
comes  and  startles  him.  Why  is  Platoff,  the  aristocrat, 
who  loves  nothing  but  himself,  a  nihilist,  and  Zamaroff, 
who  loves  nothing  but  his  money,  another  ? — Why  ? 

While  he  is  pondering  on  this,  Vassilissa  comes  to  him 
and  drives  speculation  out  of  his  head  with  a  sledge- 
hammer shock. 

She  says,  glaring  at  him  with  contemptuous  eyes  : 
"  You  miserable  coward  !  Why  are  you  here,  after 
deserting  the  being  you  swore  you  loved,  and  breaking 
her  noble  heart  ? " 

"  I  have  not  deserted  her  !  " 

"  No  ?  When  she  came  into  her  boudoir,  and  wrung 
her  hands,  and  moaned:  *  It's  easier  now  he  does  not  love 


310  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

me.  Alone  !  Betrayed  !  Sacrificed  !  '  That's  what  she 
said  !  "  cries  the  peasant  girl. 

Here  de  Verney  astonishes  Vassilissa  ;  he  hisses  at 
her  :  "  I  have  not  deserted  your  mistress  ;  but  you  have 
betrayed  her,  you  viper  !  " 

"  I !  "  gasps  the  girl. 

"  Yes  ;  you  and  your  nihilist  gang,  who  would  commit 
a  murder  under  her  roof,  and  so  compromise,  under  the 
military  law,  her  safety.  Do  you  want  your  foster-sister, 
for  your  crime,  tried  by  court-martial  ? " 

"  I  !  for  the  love  of  God,  no  !  "  gasps  the  girl. 

"  Then  why  are  you  a  nihilist  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  a  nihilist  !  " 

"  Pish  !  Why  do  you  deny  it?  "  cries  de  Verney  in  a 
rage,  for  the  girl's  stubborn  manner  angers  him.  "  Did 
you  not  carry  one  of  these  from  this  room  ?  "  and  he 
shows  her  the  damask  that  contains  the  fatal  order. 

"  Yes  ;  I  did  that.  What  does  that  matter,  anyway  ?  " 
says  Vassilissa  quietly.  "  I  didn't  steal  it.  I  took  it  for 
my  mistress." 

"  Ora  !  "  gasps  Maurice.     "  My  God  !  " 

"  Yes  !  She  had  a  headache  ;  she  said  it  would  be  just 
the  thing  to  moisten  with  chloroform  and  bind  about  her 
head,"  returns  the  girl. 

"  Ah  !  You  are  sure — she  had — a  headache,"  stutters 
de  Verney  ;  for  he  is  now  trembling  a  little,  an  awful 
fear  having  come  to  him. 

"  Certainly  !  "  says  Vassilissa.  "  She  had  a  cold,  also. 
She  ordered  a  fire  lighted  in  her  boudoir." 

u  Like  that  one  ?  "  he  gasps,  pointing  to  the  flame  that 
had  given  him  heat  by  which  to  read  the  napkin. 

"  Yes  !  Why  are  you  looking  at  me  so  ? "  screams 
the  girl. 

"  Because,"  says  the  chevalier,  gazing  at  her,  and  only 
seeing  truth  and  fidelity  in  her  eyes,  "  because  the  woman 
we — we  both  love  is  one  of  a  nihilist  circle,  who  to-day 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  31! 

will  murder  the  head  of  police.  Think  you  we  can  save 
her  ?  THINK  YOU  SHE'LL  LIVE  LONG  ?  "  and  he  utters  a 
ghastly  laugh. 

And  here  Vassilissa  gives  him  another  blow,  for  it 
confirms  his  fears  :  "  Ah  !  that's  why  Ora  prayed  all  last 
night  before  her  patron  saint, — for  some  one  about  to 
die;  but  it  was  herself. — My  God  !  I  know  it  was  herself! 
Do  you  think  Ora  a  murderess  ?  "  cries  the  girl,  under 
her  breath,  glaring  at  him  with  wild  eyes. 

"  No  !  "  cries  de  Verney  back  to  her.  "  The  woman  I 
love — NEVER  !  "  Here  he  mutters  an  awful  oath  to  him- 
self, and  shoots  out  between  his  clinched  teeth  :  "  AND  IF 

SHE  WERE,  I'D  SAVE  HER  ANYWAY  !  " 

And  Vassilissa,  falling  at  his  feet,  begins  to  kiss  his 
hands. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

THIS  does  not  last  long.  He  whispers  to  the  peasant : 
"  Tears  when  hope  is  gone  ; — now  action  !  Tell  me  all 
that  has  happened  in  your  mistress's  boudoir  since  you 
first  left  this  room  !  "  Looking  at  his  watch,  he  is  sur- 
prised to  find  it  nearly  three  o'clock,  and  mutters:  "Over 
an  hour  ago  !  " 

"  When  I  got  there  I  found  Prince  Platoff  and  Herr 
Zamaroff  in  Ora's  boudoir — they  had  left  some  papers 
on  her  table — and  Zamaroff  was  saying  the  ornaments  in 
the  room  were  worth  thirty  thousand  roubles." 

"  Ah  !  "  This  is  from  Maurice  ;  for  now  Dimitri's 
remark  at  the  club  comes  back  to  him,  and  he  begins 
to  think  money,  not  politics,  may  be  the  incentive  of  the 
bankrupt  guardian  and  his  creditor. 

A  moment  after,  Vassilissa  adds  to  this  suspicion.  She 
whispers  :  "  I've  seen  them  together  valuing  this  prop- 
erty, and  Zamaroff  was  in  Tula  at  her  great  country 
estate,  doing  the  same  thing,  a  few  months  ago  ;  I  saw 
him  there." 

"  Well,  what  next  did  they  do  ?  "  asks  Maurice  eagerly. 

"  Then — they  must  have  been  there  some  little  time, 
for  they  had  been  writing  at  the  table  ;  I  was  in  Ora's 
bedroom,  and  heard  them  through  the  curtained  entrance. 
Zamaroff  said,  *  Her  instructions  are  all  right.  We've  a 
pleasant  surprise  for  Dimitri  and  the  heiress.' " 

"  Her  instructions  ? — Ora's  instructions  ?  "  mutters 
Maurice,  a  new  and  greater  fear  coming  to  him  with 
these  words.  "  What  next  ? " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  313 

"  Then  the  old  prince  seemed  very  sad,  and  said:  '  If  I 
could  afford  it,  I'd  spare  her.'  But  Zamaroff,  who  had 
been  looking  through  the  window,  interrupted  him  by  an 
awful  cry :  t  That  idiot  Hermann  has  notified  the  second 
circle  !  Great  heavens  !  We  may  not  be  able  to  con- 
trol this  affair.  If  it  has  got  from  out  our  hands,  it's 
tragedy  for  us  also  ! '  And  the  two  together  ran  out, 
cursing  the  steward  ;  and  then  she  came  in  and  ordered 
a  fire  lighted,  and  sent  me  for  the  napkin." 

"Is  that  all?" 

11  Yes  ;  she  has  made  her  afternoon  toilet — all  in  white 
like  a  bride " 

"Never  mind  the  dresses!  What  next?"  interjects 
Maurice.  "  Is  that  everything  ?  " 

"  Yes !  " 

"  Now  take  me  to>her — quietly  and  unobserved,"  says 
de  Verney. 

But  Vassilissa  mutters:  "  I  cannot :  she  is  at  her  devo- 
tions ;  she  is  praying  to  her  saint !  " 

"  Take  me  to  her,  if  you  would  have  me  save  her  life 
— quick  !  "  he  says  sternly. 

So  adjured,  this  peasant  girl,  who  has  learned  to  obey 
all  who  claim  to  be  her  masters,  opens  the  little  side 
door,  and  leads  him  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  then  through  an 
anteroom,  and,  after  looking  herself  through  the  hanging 
draperies  of  silk,  whispers :  "  There  !  Would  you  dare  to 
disturb  her  ?  " 

Gazing  in  himself,  Maurice  is  struck  by  wonder,  the 
picture  before  him  is  so  beautiful ;  by  reverence,  the  sight 
he  beholds  is  so  quietly  sad,  so  pathetically  devout — for 
the  girl  of  his  heart  is  praying  for  one  about  to  die. 

The  foreground  of  this  picture  is  Eastern  in  its  archi- 
tecture and  colors  ;  little  Moorish  arches  separate  Ora's 
boudoir  from  the  rest  of  her  apartments,  silken  hang- 
ings drape  the  entrances  and  windows  ;  but  lightness  is 
given  to  this  scene  by  fairy-like  French  furniture,  brie- 


3  14  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

a-brac,  statuary,  and  paintings.  A  wood  fire  is  burning 
brightly  on  the  open  hearth  ;  the  sun,  just  beginning  to 
decline  in  the  heavens,  shines  mellowly  in  through  the 
windows  and  a  large  doorway  leading  to  a  balcony  lat- 
ticed in  Oriental  style ;  behind  which  are  the  green  pine- 
trees  of  the  grounds,  and  beyond  them  the  blue  waters  of 
the  Neva,  joining  a  mile  away  the  waves  of  the  Finnish 
Gulf.  The  songs  of  birds  in  the  trees  mingle  with  the 
murmur  of  a  little  brook,  and  come  in  the  open  windows. 
All  is  peace  and  happiness. 

The  background  is  mediaeval — religious — heart-break- 
ing !  In  a  little  alcove  filled  with  climbing  ivy,  the  girl  of 
his  heart  has  made  a  sanctuary  for  her  patron  saint,  as  is 
the  custom  of  her  religion.  Before  the  image  of  Saint  Olga, 
prostrate  and  sad  in  the  white  of  innocence,  the  girl  he 
loves  is  praying.  No  tears  are  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  noth- 
ing but  faith — the  faith  in  heaven  of  one  who  has  no 
faith  or  hope  on  earth. 

Then  to  this  man  comes  a  mighty  pity,  for  he  can  see 
awful  suffering  as  well  as  resignation. 

A  moment  after  she  rises  from  her  knees  ;  her  sunny 
hair,  that  is  unconfined,  floating  all  about  her,  and  be- 
coming in  the  sunlight  clouds  of  gold.  She  wrings  her 
hands  a  little,  perhaps  unconsciously,  and  mutters:  "  But 
what  use  ?  He  has  deserted  me  !  Who  can  save  me  ?  " 

Then  he  steps  behind  her  and  whispers  :  "  The  man 
who  loves  you  !  "  and  would  encircle  her  with  a  support- 
ing arm. 

But  she  gives  a  great  cry,  and  turning  round  horrifies 
him  ;  for  he  is  looking  at  the  face  of  one  who  has  put  the 
trials  and  sorrows  of  life  behind  her,  and  is  like  a  beauti- 
ful spirit.  To  him  she  now  appears  almost  an  angel. 

Then  over  her  pale  face  a  rushing  blush  of  love  sweeps. 
On  seeing  him,  the  angel  is  becoming  mortal.  She  cries  : 
"  You'll  save  me — from  what  ?  ha,  ha,  ha  !  from  what  ?  " 
and  sinks  down  by  a  chair,  laughing  and  crying  almost 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  315 

together  ;  for  the  girl's  nerves,  at  this  sudden  joy  or  fear, 
or  both,  have  given  way. 

"  From  a  fit  of  hysterics,  which  is  rather  becoming — in 
a  white  dress  !  "  says  de  Verney  with  a  laugh  ;  for  he  is 
determined  to  ta-unt  her  to  a  confession,  in  order  to  know 
how  to  act  with  judgment. 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  know  !  My  heaven  !  you  would 
not  jest  if  you  but  knew  !  "  And  the  girl  springs  to 
her  feet,  and  would  run  about  the  apartment,  wringing 
her  hands  ;  but  his  words  strike  her  like  an  electric  shock, 
and  make  her  for  a  moment  a  statue. 

"  That  you  are  a  nihilist !  "  he  says  sternly. 

After  a  second  the  statue  turns  her  face  to  his,  and 
through  bloodless  lips  murmurs:  "  Ah,  you  do  know — that 
last  night  I  drew  THE  FATAL  LOT — while  Zamaroff  held 
them  in  his  hands — that  assigns  me — to  commit — a 
murder !  " 

At  these  awful  words  he  winces  and  shudders,  though 
he  has  half  expected  them  ;  and  forcing  himself  to  calm- 
ness, nay,  almost  lightness,  for  he  will  force  this  girl 
from  a  mood  in  which  she  would  sacrifice  herself  like  an 
Eastern  fatalist,  says  :  "  Certainly  I  know  that,  FOR  I  AM 

A  NIHILIST  MYSELF  !  " 

At  this  she  cries  out :  "  No,  no  !  Impossible  ! "  in  a 
tone  of  horror. 

"  Pooh  !  "  laughs  de  Verney,  "  If  right  for  you  to 
be  one,  it  is  right  for  me.  This  napkin  disclosed  your 
secret.  Then  I  said,  this  innocent  places  herself  outside 
the  law.  Vraiment !  I  love  her  well  enough  to  follow 
her.  I  place  myself  outside  the  law,  also  ! " 

Here  she  looks  at  him,  a  great  love  coming  into  her 
eyes,  and  shudders.  "  To  sacrifice  yourself  !  " 

"  No,"  replies  Maurice  solemnly,  "to  save  you!"  and 
getting  her  in  his  arms,  he  murmurs  in  her  ear,  that  grows 
pink  like  a  shell,  blushing  under  his  caresses :  "  I  said, 
here  is  a  romantic  child  who  loves  liberty,  for  which — 


316  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

God  bless  her !  Some  one  interested  in  her  downfall  has 
taught  this  innocent  that  crime  for  the  sake  of  liberty  is 
justice  and  virtue." 

Here  she  cries  out  to  him :  "  That  was  never  told  me 
till  I  was  theirs  body  and  soul — till  I  had  sworn  their  sol- 
emn oath  before  the  altar  of  my  mother  country  ! — then 
it  was  she  taught  me " 

"  She — who  ? "  interrupts  Maurice. 

"  My  governess,  Marguerite  de  Brian,  the  one  you 
sent  to  my  father." 

Then  de  Verney  gasps  under  his  breath:  "My  God, what 
infamy  !  "  and  to  his  love*  is  added  self-reproach  that  he 
had  risked  the  future  of  this  being  he  adores  upon  a 
single  letter. 

Of  this  the  girl  takes  no  heed,  but  mutters  on:  "  Then 
it  was  she  taught  me  that,  if  liberty  was  a  right  of  Russia, 
I  could  do  no  wrong  in  aiding  my  country  to  obtain  it ; 
that  for  liberty  assassination  was  execution — murder, 
justice  !  " 

At  this  Maurice  cries  out :  "  Then  you  will  do  this 
crime?"  and  turning  Ora's  face  to  his,  gazes  into  her 
blue  eyes,  and  mutters  :  "  You  could  not  murder — 

"  Not  even  for  Russia,"  says  the  girl  ;  and  she  tells  him 
in  a  few  words  how  the  woman  had  taught  her  as  a  little 
child  to  "  love  liberty." 

"  So  as  a  woman  she  could  destroy  you.  In  happier 
lands  she  would  have  made  you  a  monster  of  vice  ;  now, 
in  this  accursed  country,  she  makes  you  a  patriot.  Ah, 
I  love  you  all  the  more,  because  you  have  sinned  so 
little,  you  do  not  know  crime  at  sight.  But  if  you  do  not 
kill  your  victim,  you  break  your  oath " 

"And  forfeit  my  life!"  cries  Ora,  springing  up. 
"  That  is  why  you  must  go — NOW  !  That  is  why  I  can 
never  be  your  wife."  Here  she  turns  her  head  away,  and 
mutters:  "  I  belong  to  Death." 

"  Tut,  tut ! "  laughs    Maurice,  who   will   not   let   her 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  317 

despair.  "  I'd  beat  Death  in  a  race  for  a  pretty  woman 
any  day,"  and  getting  her  in  his  arms  again,  cries:  "  You 
love  me.  Give  me  the  chance  to  save  you, — will  you  ? 
You  would  like  to  be  happy  with  me,  would  you  not  ?  " 

"  Would  not  I  !  "  cries  the  girl,  who  is  now  sobbing 
under  his  kisses  ;  "  WOULD  NOT  I  !  There  is  a  letter  on 
that  table  addressed  to  you.  I  wrote  that.  I  could  not 
die  till  I  had  told  you  that  I  loved  you,  and  if  I  lived  I 

would  be "  But  here  she  tears  herself  from  him,  and 

cries:  "  If I live  ?  The  hand  of  death  is  on  me  now! 
Look  out  of  that  window  !  I  cannot  escape  !  There, 
almost  at  my  door,  stands  Feodor,  Dimitri's  valet,  wait- 
ing to  see  I  do  my  work  ;  beyond  there — all  around 
the  house,  to  prevent  my  victim's  escape  and  mine — the 
second  circle."  And,  as  he  approaches  at  her  words,  she 
mutters :  "  Don't  you  think  I  would  have  fled  with  you 
before — two  days  ago,  when  I  broke  my  heart  and  left 
you — if  I  had  not  been  surrounded  by  spies,  and  feared 
to  involve  you  in  my  fate  ? " 

"  Our  fates  are  one,  Ora,"  he  says  to  her  sadly.  Then 
seeing  she  is  right,  and  that,  even  if  they  got  from  the 
house,  without  passport  they  could  hardly  journey  far 
unquestioned  by  the  police,  he  mutters  :  "  And  now ! " 
thinking  very  hard. 

"  Now,"  cries  the  girl,  "  you  must  go  !  " 

"  Now,"  he  cries  back  to  her,  "  I  stay  here  and  save 
you  !  "  Then,  despite  entreaties  from  her  white  lips 
that  he  leave  her  to  her  fate,  he  reads  her  instructions, 
that  this  innocent  conspirator  has  left  upon  her  table. 
These  are  simple  and  to  the  point : 

"  Ora,  chosen  by  the  will  of  God  ! 

"  The  criminal  condemned  to  die  will  hand  you  in  person  the  order 
for  his  execution.  Disobey,  and  you  die  yourself.  Your  weapons 
are  in  package  marked  »|«. 

"NATIONAL  COMMITTEE." 


318  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"Ah,  your  weapons  !  "  he  says,  pointing  to  a  package 
lying  also  on  the  table.  "  You  have  not  opened  it !  " 

"  Of  what  use  ?  "  mutters  the  girl.  "  I  shall  not  use 
them.  Those  outside,  seeing  I  do  not  obey,  will  simply 
come  in  and  kill  us  both  !  " 

"  Then,  if  the  condemned  is  to  come  here,"  he  whispers, 
"  you  must  expect  a  visitor  ? " 

"No." 

"  Think  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but  I  have  written  to  him,"  cries  Ora. 
"  It's  only  my  cousin  Dimitri." 

Then  Maurice  de  Verney  knows  what  Hermann  told 
him  is  true.  He  mutters :  "  Only  Dimitri  Menchikoff 
— only  your  heir  !  "  and  gives  a  sudden  cry :  "  I  under- 
stand !  "  for  now  he  has  guessed  the  cunningness 
of  Platoff's  plot.  "  Ora,"  he  continues  very  solemnly, 
"  if  Prince  Dimitri  Menchikoff  enters  your  doors,  bar- 
ring accidents,  you've  but  two  alternatives — death  or 
Siberia  !  Dimitri  is  the  prefect  of  the  secret  police — 
he  has  been  condemned  to  death  by  the  nihilists — he  is 
the  man  you  are  selected  to  assassinate." 

To  this  the  girl  mutters :  "  Kill  my  cousin  !  mon- 
strous ! " 

"  It  is  because  he  is  your  cousin  that  you  are  to  kill 
him,"  returns  Maurice  quickly.  "  You  kill  him,  and  are 
punished  for  the  crime,  and  who  becomes  heir  to  your 
vast  estates  ? " 

u  Prince  Sergius  Platoff !  "  she  cries,  a  gleam  of  under- 
standing flashing  over  her  face. 

"  You  break  your  oath,  you  do  not  assassinate  Dimitri, 
and  these  nihilists  kill  both  you  and  him.  Again  Prince 
Sergius  Platoff  becomes  your  heir.  And  who  gains  by 
your  destruction  and  Dimitri's  ?  Prince  Sergius  Platoff, 
the  head  of  your  circle,  the  man  who  placed  your 
instructions  on  that  table  ;  his  wife,  who  taught  you  to 
be  a  nihilist ;  and  Zamaroff,  his  creditor,  who  palmed  on 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  319 

you  the  fatal  lot,"  he  shoots  out,  an  awful  indignation  in 
his  voice  ;  for  she  has  grown  even  paler  than  she  was 
before  she  heard  this,  and  has  muttered  :  "  I  understand 
now.  My  wealth  has  destroyed  me  !  " 

"  Pish !  "  he  goes  on,  "  I've  beaten  rogues  before — 
I'll  do  it  again.  Dimitri  must  not  come  here.  You  have 
written  to  him,  you  say — what  is  in  the  letter  ?  " 

"  There  it  is  on  the  table,"  says  the  girl  despairingly. 
"  It  is  in  answer  to  his  command  that  I  become  his 
wife." 

«  Ah  ! " 

"  In  it  I  return  to  him  his  marriage  contract,  and  tell 
him  I  hate  him  for  his  cruelty,  and  despise  him  for  his 
vice  ;  that  I'll  never  be  his  wife — so  help  me  Heaven  !  " 
cries  the  girl,  beginning  to  look  proud  and  haughty,  as 
she  thinks  of  this  brute  who  has  commanded  her  to  be 
his. 

"  Then,  you  hardly  think  Dimitri  would  visit  you 
to-day,  if  he  saw  this  ?  "  returns  Maurice  quietly,  though 
his  eyes  beam  with  admiration. 

"  If  he  had  the  pride  of  a  man,  he'd  never  enter  my 
gates." 

"  Then  Dimitri  shall  have  it.  If  he  doesn't  come  here, 
you  are  saved  for  this  day  ;  and  somehow,  please  God,  I'll 
have  you  out  of  Russia  to-night,  as  I  would  have  done 
before  had  you  not  fled  from  me,"  returns  Maurice,  a 
little  hope  in  his  voice. 

On  this  the  girl  mutters  :  "  Have  pity  ;  don't  reproach 
me — I  did  it  for  you  !  "  as  de  Verney  sounds  a  little 
hand-bell,  which  is  immediately  answered  by  Vassilissa. 

To  her  he  whispers  to  first  go  to  the  stables  and  order 
a  carriage  ready ;  for  he  thinks  it  may  be  of  use,  and  will 
take  no  chance  of  its  not  being  prepared.  Next  he  tells 
her  to  walk  openly  down  the  avenue,  as  if  on  some  errand 
connected  with  the  house,  and  wait  near  the  gate  until 
she  sees  Dimitri  approach,  then  to  give  him  this  letter, 


32O  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

which,  as  he  hands  it  to  her,  he  notes  is  in  a  very  large 
envelope,  and  bulky,  with  the  marriage  contract  as  he 
supposes.  "  Do  this," he  says,  "for  your  mistress's  life  !  " 
And  the  girl  being  gone  he  turns  to  Ora,  who  mutters  to 
him:  "Can  I  do  nothing  to  aid  myself?"  and  astounds 
her. 

"  Certainly,"  he  says  ;  "  find  the  remainder  of  those 
napkins." 

She  looks  at  him  in  astonishment  for  a  moment,  and 
then  replies  :  "  I  have  only  one — mine  !  "  giving  him  her 
badge  of  guilt. 

"There  are  more  of  these  in  this  room,"  answers 
Maurice  sharply.  "  Do  you  think  Zamaroff  and  the 
prince  did  not  leave  their  tickets  to  Siberia  to  you  when 
they  were  here  ?  Here's  two  of  the  six — yours  and  mine. 
Feodor,  as  he  stands  outside  prepared  to  fulfill  his  oath, 
is  probably  idiot  enough  to  carry  his  in  his  pocket. 

Louise — I  mean  Marguerite — the  princess By  the 

bye,  where  is  your  aunt  at  present  ? "  This  last  is  said 
sharply,  as  if  some  new  idea  has  entered  his  head. 

Here  the  girl  astounds  him  with  "  She  is  in  that  music- 
room.  She  and  that  Englishman,  who  is  so  devoted  to 
her  that  she  can't  get  him  to  leave  the  house.  How  is  it 
they  let  you  stay  here  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"The  Prince,  Zamaroff,  and  the  others." 

"  By  George  !  I  imagine  they  think  I've  gone.  My 
carriage  drove  away,"  he  remarks.  And  his  guess  is  true ; 
for,  seeing  de  Verney's  carriage  leave  the  house,  Sergius, 
whose  eyesight  was  not  remarkably  good,  had  made  sure 
the  Frenchman  had  left  them  to  their  business. 

"  How  do  you  know  the  princess  is  there  ?  "  he  asks, 
pointing  to  the  music-room. 

"  It  was  part  of  the  plan  :  she's  to  play  the  Russian 
hymn,  so  that  those  outside  can  know  that  he  is  dead." 

As  if  in  mockery  to  their  despair,  at  this  moment  there 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  321 

comes  to  them,  faintly  from  this  room,  the  sweet  strains 
of  the  mazourka  that  sounded  in  their  ears  when  their 
hearts  first  beat  together,  that  night  at  the  ball  on  the 
Frontanka. 

It  acts  like  a  whip-lash  on  Maurice;  he  mutters:  "Find 
the  napkins.  Quick  !  " 

Together  they  search  the  room — de  Verney  making  his 
examination  with  the  same  methods  and  logic  he  had 
used  years  ago  in  France,  and  finding  under  the  cushions 
of  a  sofa,  that  had  been  disturbed  but  not  apparently  sat 
down  on,  one  more  ;  Ora  moving  about  excitedly,  but 
without  method,  and  unsuccessfully.  Once  she  mutters: 
"  This  is  a  game.  It  is  so  exciting  !  "  for,  with  all  her 
brilliant  mind,  she  has  not  been  long  in  the  world  of 
society,  and  is  still  in  many  things  almost  a  child. 

And,  her  very  innocence  making  her  dearer  than 
ever  to  this  man,  who  will  protect  and  save  her  even 
with  his  life,  if  God  will  but  let  him,  he  clinches  his 
teeth  and  mutters :  "  Too  deuced  exciting  !  The  stakes 
are  too  high  !  "  and  still  searches  on,  though  at  times 
his  eyes  will  wander  to  her — she  is  so  beautiful  as  she 
moves  about  in  careless  grace,  in  this  white  robe  that 
makes  her  look  like  a  bride,  her  bare  arms  and  shoul- 
ders flashing  in  the  sunlight. 

Finally  he  has  examined  all  the  room,  and  has  found 
no  more.  The  piano  suddenly  has  stopped  ;  he  fears 
Louise  may  be  watching,  and  goes  to  the  door  of  the 
music-room  ;  he  can  hear  Beresford's  voice,  and  looks  very 
cautiously  in.  The  young  Englishman  is  bending  over 
the  princess  as  she  sits  at  the  piano  ;  and,  looking  sharply 
at  him,  he  sees,  tied  round  his  neck  in  a  true-lover's 
knot,  the  beautiful  silken  web  that  carries  with  it  con- 
demnation by  a  military  tribunal.  Louise  has  kindly 
disposed  of  hers  to  her  admirer  !  He  softly  closes  the 
door,  and  more  softly  locks  it  and  pockets  the  key.  Then 
he  turns  to  Ora,  who  has  been  watching  him  with  sur- 
21 


322  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

prise,  and  mutters  :  "  I  have  three  napkins.  Feodor  has 
one,  Beresford  another.  I  must  take  my  chances  on  the 
sixth.  I  am  told  you  have  some  chloroform  ? " 

"  Yes,"  says  Ora,  "  for  my  headaches." 

"  Then  a  basin  and  the  chloroform.     Quick  !  " 

The  girl,  with  a  graceful  gesture,  tosses  some  roses 
out  of  an  ornamental  bowl,  gives  it  to  him,  and,  running 
into  her  bedroom,  returns  with  a  vial  of  chloroform, 
questioning  him  with  her  eyes. 

"  Now,"  he  replies,  placing  the  napkins  in  the  bowl, 
and  pouring  the  chemical  upon  them,  "adieu,  sympa- 
thetic ink  !  In  ten  minutes  these  will  be  innocent  of 
conspiracy  ! " 

And  the  fumes  of  the  drug  being  potent,  he  carries 
the  bowl  and  its  contents  to  a  window  overlooking  the 
grounds,  and  places  it  upon  the  sill,  remarking :  "  This 
stuff  might  make  me  stupid,  and  I  need  all  my  wits." 

As  he  does  this,  Ora  steps  beside  him  and  points  to  the 
fire,  crying  :  "  Burn  the  accursed  things  !  " 

"  What,  "  he  answers,  "  destroy  the  evidence  of  guilt, 
and  thus  prove  you  know  it  to  be  an  evidence  !  Ah,  no  ! 
Make  it  innocent.  These  napkins  that  were  our  danger 
may  then  be  our  safety. " 

"  And  what  next  ?  "  mutters  the  girl. 

"  Next  I  must  find  that  missing  napkin,"  he  says  ;  but, 
as  he  does  so,  Vassilissa,  who  has  run  up  to  the  latticed 
balcony  by  a  flight  of  steps  outside,  comes  in,  pale  and 
breathless,  and  gasps  out : 

"Dimitri's  coming  up  the  stairs  now  !  " 

"  You  delivered  the  letter  ?  "  says  Maurice. 

"  Yes." 

"  He  read  it  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  laughed,  that  was  all  ;  he  laughed  awfully — as  if 
in  triumph." 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  323 

"  Ora,  you  are  sure  you  sealed  that  letter  when  you 
wrote  it  ? "  asks  de  Verney  of  his  sweetheart,  who  is  look- 
ing astounded. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  mutters,  "  I  was  so  agitated." 

"  Then,"  Maurice  says  gently,  "  there  was  something 
in  that  letter  you  did  not  place  there.  If  I  have  de- 
stroyed you,  forgive  me." 

And  she  answers  with  her  eyes  :  "  With  my  whole 
heart,"  for  Dimitri  is  just  coming  in  the  door,  and  Vas- 
silissa  has  slunk  frightened  away  ;  while  de  Verney,  care- 
fully keeping  out  of  this  man's  view,  is  moving  cautiously 
toward  the  entrance,  which  is  easy,  as  Menchikoff's  eyes 
are  fastened  in  one  longing,  devouring  gaze  upon  this 
beautiful  creature  who  turns  to  meet  him,  and  whose 
very  loathing  will  only  make  his  triumph  greater. 

Thus,  unseen,  Maurice  occupies  the  door  by  which 
Dimitri  entered,  and  stands  at  his  back,  while  the  mili- 
tary policeman,  who  is  dressed  in  the  full  uniform  of  the 
Guard,  laughs  out  at  the  shrinking  girl  before  him  :  "  A 
cordial  welcome  your  maid  brought  me  to  the  gate, 
Cousin  Ora,"  and  would  kiss  her  hand. 

This  she  keeps  from  him,  and  says  very  coldly  :  "  I 
had  hoped  my  letter  would  have  made  your  visit  un- 
necessary." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  smiles  Dimitri,  who  is  now  drawing 
off  his  gloves,  and  apparently  very  much  pleased  with 
something,  "  it  made  my  visit  both  imperative  and  offi- 
cial !  " 

"  You  will  not  take  my  answer?  " 

"  Not  the  one  you  gave." 

"  But  you  shall  take  it,"  the  girl  cries,  and  Maurice  sees 
her  form  grow  larger  with  haughty  pride.  "  I  am  Ora 
Lapuschkin,  countess  in  my  own  right,  and  mistress  of 
myself ;  and  I  tell  you,  Prince  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  I  will 
never  fulfill  the  marriage  contract  that  binds  me  to  you." 

"  Pardon  me,"  mutters  Dimitri,  after  a  little  pause  of 


324  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

perhaps  astonishment.  "Your  letter  said  nothing  of  the 
kind.  You  simply  sent  me,  in  an  envelope  addressed  by 
you  to  me,  this  paper  and  this  napkin,"  and  with  a  little 
chuckle  produces  them. 

Both  de  Verney  and  Ora  gaze  at  him  astounded.  But 
Maurice  does  more  :  he  quickly  locks  the  door  at  his 
back,  and,  pocketing  the  key,  they  are  now  cut  off  from 
the  immediate  entrance  of  the  nihilists  outside  ;  for  he 
knows  that  the  cunning  of  Platoff  has  added  some  new 
and  curious  danger  to  his  niece's  peril. 

"  This  napkin  sa)^  nothing,"  murmurs  Dimitri,  with 
the  air  of  a  cat  playing  with  a  mouse.  u  This  paper  says 
THIS,"  and  he  reads  in  official  voice :  "  Prince  Dimitri 
Menchikoff,  colonel  in  the  army  of  the  Czar,  coward 
who  flogged  women  in  Odessa,  brute  who  tortured  polit- 
ical prisoners  at  Kharkoff,  wretch  unworthy  to  live, 
prepare  to  die.  You  are  condemned  by  order  of  the 
Russian  National  Committee." 

Then  he  pauses,  and  eyes  the  girl  as  a  snake  does  a 
bird,  and  jeers  :  "A  deuced  polite  answer  to  a  loving 
suitor  for  your  hand." 

"  I — I  never  wrote  that  letter,  I  swear  it,"  gasps  Ora  ; 
for  she  knows  Platoff  has  done  this  thing  to  her  to  com- 
pel her  to  kill  this  man  for  her  own  salvation. 

"  Then  who  did  it  ?  "  cries  Dimitri  in  an  awful  voice, 
striding  up  to  her  ;  but,  ere  he  seizes  her,  another  form  is 
between  them,  and  Maurice  de  Verney  is  smiling  into 
his  face,  "I  DID!" 

"  You  ? "  cries  Dimitri,  staggering  back  astounded  ; 
then  he  says  more  slowly,  an  ugly  look  on  his  face  :  "  I 
thought  you  were  leaving  St.  Petersburg.  Did  I  not  tell 
you  the  climate  was  unhealthy  for  you  ?  "  A  moment 
after  he  mutters  shortly  :  "Your  story  is  impossible  !  " 

"  I'll  prove  it,"  replies  de  Verney  coolly  ;  and  ringing  a 
bell,  Vassilissa  enters  timidly,  and  gazes  shiveringly  at 
the  head  of  secret  police. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  325 

"  Who  gave  you  a  letter  to  deliver  to  Prince  Menchi- 
koff  ?  "  asks  Maurice. 

"  You  did,  sir,"  answers  the  girl,  and  leaves  the  room 
as  if  glad  to  get  away. 

"  You  see,"  murmurs  de  Verney. 

"  Pardon  me.     I  do  not  see." 

"  Then  I'll  explain,"  continues  Maurice.  "  Discover- 
ing a  plot  against  your  life,  and  having  a  fellow  feeling  for 
you — I  was  once  connected  with  the  French  secret  police 
myself — I  sent  you  that  warning,  and,  to  make  you  appre- 
ciate it  thoroughly,  worded  it  after  the  usual  style  of 
those  anonymous  messages." 

"  But  your  description  of  me  is  so  true,"  laughs  the 
Russian. 

"  True  that  you  flogged  women  !  "  gasps  Maurice  ;  but 
he  cuts  this  short,  thinking  in  his  mind  that  this  man 
is  one  of  the  wretches  who  make  nihilism  almost  a 
virtue.  As  for  Ora,  her  eyes  become  more  scornful  than 
ever. 

"  But  the  napkin  ? "  mutters  the  guardsman,  dropping 
easily  into  a  chair,  as  if  he  were  fatigued  with  the  subject. 

"Was  sent  you  to  prevent  your  visiting  her  to-day. 
I  knew  the  letter  would  not  alone  deter  a  man  of  your 
courage,"  explains  de  Verney. 

"  I  see  nothing  in  it." 

"  You  have  not  been  a  policeman  as  long  as  I.  I  will 
instruct  you,"  says  Maurice.  "It  was  by  this."  He 
takes  the  napkin  to  the  fire,  and  holds  it  before  the  flame. 
"  I  discovered  your  death  was— here  !" 

"  By  St.  Vladimir  !  "  cries  Dimitri. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  discover,"  laughs  de  Verney  ;  for 
he  wants  this  man  to  think  him  not  too  greatly  interested 
in  this  business. 

But  here  Dimitri  astounds  him.  He  does  not  rise 
from  his  seat,  which  is  at  least  a  dozen  feet  from  the 
fire,  but  reads  the  nihilist  order  rapidly  and  easily. 


326  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  You  read  from  that  distance  !  "  gasps  Maurice.  "  You 
have  the  eye  of  a  hawk." 

"  For  criminals — yes  !  "  langhs  the  military  policeman. 
Then  he  cries  :  "  I  see  enough  to  order  the  arrest  of  all 
who  hold  these  badges  of  treason  !  "  and  springs  from  his 
chair  as  if  he  would  leave  the  room  to  give  some  com- 
mand. 

But  Maurice  stops  him  by  saying  quietly  :  "  That  would 
only  mean  your  cousin — and  me."  And  Ora,  who  has 
been  watching  these  two  men  with  panting  interest,  sud- 
denly cries  out  :  "  All  the  napkins  are  in  this  room  !  " 

"  Except  one  that  young  Englishman  Beresford  wears 
about  his  neck  as  innocently  as  you  carried  this,"  inter- 
jects de  Verney  ;  then  he  says  with  almost  a  sneer  :  "  Do 
you  suppose  after  use  a  man  keeps  in  his  pocket  what  will 
condemn  him  to  death  ?  This  nihilist  circle  has  kindly 
thrown  all  the  proof  against  it  upon  this  innocent  girl  and 
me  ! " 

While  this  has  been  going  on,  Dimitri  has  been  biting 
his  lips  in  thought.  He  now  says  harshly  :  "  Ah,  I  see  ! 
I  shall  order  the  arrest  of  all  about  here,  except  those 
who  have  these  things  in  their  possession  !  " 

"  Ah  !  Now  you  are  becoming  brilliant,  prince,"  cries 
de  Verney  with  an  unnatural  laugh.  "  Between  the  old 
head  of  police  and  the  young  head  of  police,  we'll  astonish 
these  conspirators." 

"  I'll  order  their  arrest  at  once,"  returns  Dimitri,  strid- 
ing up  to  the  door. 

And  Ora,  coming  to  Maurice,  murmurs :  "  We  swim  !  " 

At  this  he  gives  her  a  perplexed  look,  and  mutters : 
"  We're  drowning  !  I  cannot  understand  his  opera-glass 
eyes,  and  his  lack  of  surprise  at  the  hidden  message  on  the 
napkin." 

Then  he  cries  out  suddenly  :  "  If  you  break  down  that 
door,  you  will  go  to  your  death  !  "  For  Menchikoff, 
having  tried  the  lock,  has  drawn  out  his  revolver,  and,  after 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  327 

snapping  each  chamber  of  it,  has  thrown  it  down  with 
a  curse,  muttering :  "  My  pistol  has  been  tampered  with  !  " 

"  Come  here,"  whispers  de  Verney,  leading  him  to  a 
window.  "  Look  carefully  out,"  and  shows  him  the  situ- 
ation— the  second  circle  about  the  pavilion,  and  Feodor 
waiting  to  give  the  signal  if  Ora  does  not  keep  her  oath, 
that  they  may  come  in  and  kill  them  both. 

At  this  Dimitri  mutters,  astonished  :  "  Feodor,  my 
valet — a  traitor  ?  Why,  he  cringed  to  my  riding-whip 
yesterday  !  " 

"  That  is  the  reason  your  pistol  is  not  loaded  ;  that  is 
the  reason  he  will  have  your  blood  to-day  !  "  mutters  de 
Verney,  in  an  awful  whisper. 

"  Then  I've  a  pleasant  surprise  for  Mr.  Feodor !  " 
laughs  Menchikoff,  though  Maurice  notes  his  cheek  has 
turned  pale  with  some  sudden  emotion.  "  Look  a  little 
farther,  and  you  see — 

"  A  number  of  men  surrounding  the  house,  their  horses 
concealed  in  the  shrubberies  of  these  grounds." 

"  My  secret  police.  Do  you  think  I  came  unguarded 
after  being  condemned  to  assassination,  Monsieur  French- 
man ? "  jeers  the  Russian.  "  Do  you  see  a  man  under 
this  window,  lying  in  that  laurel  bush  ?  " 

"  He  looks  like  one  of  my  countrymen  !  "  mutters  de 
Verney,  astonished. 

"  He  is  Monsieur  Victor  Regnier,  a  sub-lieutenant  in 
the  Third  Section." 

"  He  was  once  under  me  in  Paris,"  mutters  Maurice. 
"  He  can  be  trusted."  But  this  gives  him  no  confidence  ; 
he  knows  Regnier  will  obey  orders  upon  him  as  well  as 
any  one  else. 

"  I  know  that,"  says  Dimitri.  "  I've  got  even  the 
bridges  to  this  island  guarded  now.  I  have  but  to  blow 
my  whistle,  and  Monsieur  Regnier  has  my  police  on  these 
nihilists  ;  "  and  he  shows  a  silver  whistle  secured  by  a 
silken  cord  round  his  neck. 


328  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Not  before  these  nihilists  can  break  down  that  door, 
and  kill  both  you  and  us,"  says  Maurice  hastily. 

Looking  over  the  situation,  the  Russian  policeman 
murmurs :  "  I  believe  you  are  right,"  and  leaves  the 
window. 

Here  Ora,  who  has  been  listening  breathlessly  to  them, 
suddenly  utters  :  "  Dimitri,  stay  here  !  You  are  safe  so 
long  as  you  stay  in  this  room." 

"  In  this  room  !  Why  ?  "  asks  Menchikoff  hurriedly, 
a  new  light  coming  into  his  eyes. 

"  Because,  until  you  leave  this  room,"  returns  the  girl, 
now  only  anxious  to  save  the  man  who  persecutes  her, 
"  the  nihilist  circle  will  not  know  that  you  have  not  been 
killed  by  the  member  appointed  to  do  it  !  " 

At  this  de  Verney,  who  has  been  trying  to  warn  her, 
moans  to  himself  :  "  Peste  !  Her  kind  heart  has  ruined 
«s!" 

And  the  Russian  brute  she  would  defend  suddenly 
cries  out  in  a  stern  voice  :  u  Ah,  ha  !  Then  the  mem- 
ber appointed  to  murder  me  is  in  this  room.  Then 
either  you  or  that  Frenchman  is  the  nihilist  to  assassinate 
me  !  "  And  his  gleaming  saber  flashes  out  as  he  strides 
up  to  her,  who  would  save  him,  and  mutters  :  "  Which  of 
you  has  conspired  against  the  Czar  ?"  But  as  he  does 
so,  Maurice  stands  between  them,  and  says  in  a  hoarse 
voice  :  "  Again,  it  is  I !  " 

And  Ora  cries  out,  astounded  at  him : 

"  You  ?  " 

At  this  Dimitri  sneers  :  "  This  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  a  cursed  French  republican  !  " 

While  Ora  cries  out  again  :  "  You  shall  not  sacrifice 
yourself  for  me.  I  am  the  guilty  one.  I  am  the  nihilist 
appointed  to  kill  you,  Dimitri  Menchikoff.  Who"  else 
would  take  more  joy  in  your  death  ?  " 

This  last  is  said  desperately. 

But  de  Verney,   who  forces  himself  to  calm  as  she 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  329 

grows  excited,  coolly  says  :  "  This  excitement  has  de- 
ranged her.  That  delicate  girl  murder  you,  a  strong 
man — the  idea  is  monstrous  !  The  child  raves.  It  was 
I ;  or  how  did  I  know  the  secret  of  those  napkins  ?  I 
joined  the  circle  merely  to  warn  you,  and  being  con- 
nected with  the  French  legation " 

"  You  have  your  passport  showing  who  you  are  ? " 
asks  Menchikoff  suddenly. 

At  this  question,  Maurice,  remembering  the  use  to 
which  he  has  put  it,  mutters  : 

"  I  have  not  ;  but  you  know  perfectly  well  who  I  am." 

"  Pardon  me,"  remarks  Dimitri,  with  a  polite  shrug  of 
the  shoulders.  '*  Without  your  passport  I  decline  offi- 
cially to  know  anything,  except  that  you  have  confessed  a 
crime  !  " 

"  But  the  French  Embassy  will  know !  "  cries  the  chev- 
alier with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Only  that  Maurice  de  Verney  has  disappeared  !  " 
sneers  Menchikoff.  And  then  he  goes  on,  an  awful  signifi- 
cance in  his  tone  :  "  If  I  arrest  you  to-day,  to-morrow 
you  are  nothing  !  But  the  chain  of  convicts  for  Siberia 
will  number  one  more.  In  that  vast  frozen  desert  there's 
some  out-of-the-way  vault,  in  the  blackness  of  a  quick- 
silver mine,  where  /  can  hide  you,  and  France  can't  find 
you  !  " 

He  throws  a  jeering  smile  on  Maurice,  who  mutters  : 
"  I  understand.  I've  known  such  things  before." 

But  now  Ora  is  in  front  of  the  destroyer,  her  face  on 
fire  with  generous  sacrifice,  crying  :  "  Maurice,  this  shall 
not  be  ! — Dimitri,  I  am  the  culprit  !  Here  is  my  proof 
— the  order  for  your  assassination  !  "  and  she  holds  the 
paper  out  to  him. 

"  That  is  mine  !  "  cries  de  Verney  hoarsely,  striving 
to  seize  it  ;  but  she,  avoiding  his  grasp,  shoves  the  docu- 
ment right  under  Dimitri 's  eyes,  that 
this  enthusiastic  girl. 

JTJP-         --»          .^r- 

THE 


330  THAT    FRENCHMAN 


"  Does  it  read  so  ?  "  she  goes  on.  "  '  Ora,  chosen  by  the 
will  of  God  !  '  Ora  !  That  is  my  name  !  Deny  that, 
Maurice,  if  you  can  !  ORA — you  see  the  name  ORA  !  " 

At  this  Menchikoff  laughs  a  little  under  his  breath. 
"  How  you  each  of  you  convict  yourself,  and  do  not 
clear  the  other."  Then  his  face  works  with  a  sudden 
pang,  and  he  hisses  :  "  You  love  each  other  !  " 

And  Maurice  answers  this  by  "  Listen  to  the  truth  ! 
Prince  Platoff,  his  wife,  and  Zamaroff,  his  creditor,  are 
all  interested  in  this  lady's  and  your  death.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  that  her  estates  are  very  rich." 

"  You  have  observed  that !  "  sneers  Dimitri.  "  French- 
men have  a  taste  for  money  as  well  as  for  beauty  ! " 

Neither  the  girl  nor  her  lover  winces  at  this  fling  ;  it  is  no 
more  to  them  than  a  mosquito  bite  to  a  man  burning  alive. 

Maurice,  unheeding  the  interruption,  says  on  :  "  The 
people  I  have  mentioned  are  part  of  the  circle  which 
ordered  Ora  to  kill  you.  Had  she  obeyed  that  com- 
mand, they  would  then  have  denounced  her  ;  and  on  her 
execution,  or  banishment,  Prince  Sergius  Platoff  would 
have  become  the  owner  of  these  estates."  Then,  indig- 
nation coming  to  him  at  the  thought  of  such  infinite 
treachery  to  a  helpless  girl,  he  cries  out :  "  This  plot  has 
degenerated  from  a  political  crime  to  a  social  one.  It 
is  as  much  against  this  child  as  against  you.  You  are 
bound  to  her  by  ties  of  blood  ;  aid  me  to  save  this  inno- 
cent from  these  traitors,  both  to  the  Czar  and  to  human- 
ity !  " 

And  Dimitri,  who  seems  to  have  caught  his  enthusiasm, 
cries  back  to  him :  "  I  will ! — both  save  her,  and  punish 
them  !  " 

And  for  one  moment  Maurice  believes  him,  and  mut- 
ters :  "  God  be  thanked  ! "  For  he  cannot  conceive  that 
any  man,  looking  at  this  girl  whose  innocent  heart  beams 
through  her  eyes,  could  aid  those  who  would  make  her  a 
criminal,  and  give  to  her  the  punishment  of  a  felon. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  331 

"I  shall  write  an  order,"  goes  on  Dimitri,  after  a 
moment's  thought,  drawing  a  table  nearer  the  window, 
and  seating  himself  with  his  back  to  the  light,  but  also 
keeping  the  other  two  in  front  of  him.  Then  he  says: 
"  Ora,  bring  me  pen,  ink,  and  paper  ;  "  and  the  girl  doing 
this,  he  laughs  to  de  Verney :  "  This  is  the  first  time  she 
ever  obeyed  me  !  "  After  this  for  a  couple  of  minutes 
he  writes  rapidly,  and  finally  reads  to  them  : 

"  SUB-LIEUTENANT  REGNIER: 

"  Quietly  draw  your  men  about  this  building,  and  arrest  all  who  do 
not  present  to  you  a  napkin  similar  to  the  one  I  throw  you  with  this. 
It  shall  be  a  safe  passport  for  this  house  and  grounds.  Do  not  dis- 
turb me  in  this  room,  till  you  have  arrested  all  outside  of  it.  This 
shall  be  your  warrant  for  your  action.  MENCHIKOFF, 

"Prefect  Third  Section:' 

Then  quickly  rolling  this  order  up  in  a  napkin,  he  care- 
fully drops  it  out  of  the  window  ;  and  Ora,  looking  after 
it,  whispers  :  "  Your  officer  has  picked  it  up  ;  he  makes  a 
signal  he  understands.  Dimitri,  God  bless  you!  — We 
have  the  napkins  ;  Maurice,  we  can  pass  the  police — we 
are  safe  !  " 

This  outburst  of  hope  Menchikoff  strikes  down  with 
despair  ;  he  has  crossed  the  room,  a  mocking  smile  on 
his  Eastern  face.  He  murmurs  :  "  That  is  as  you  and 
Monsieur  de  Verney  elect.  In  half  an  hour  the  nihilists 
outside  will  all  be  seized  ;  you  can  give  them  no  warn- 
ing. And  if  they  killed  me,  that  would  not  save  you  ; 
for  at  the  bottom  of  that  order  I  tossed  to  my  lieutenant, 
I  wrote  :  '  If  I  am  found  dead,  arrest  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  about  this  house.  My  murder  has  been  caused 
by  a  Frenchman  who  is  here,  and  my  cousin  the  Countess 
Lapuschkin.  See  they  are  punished  without  court-mar- 
tial ! '  " 

Here  he  grips  his  saber  a  little  more  tightly,  for  all 
men  fear  the  desperation  of  despair,  and  de  Verney  has 


332  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

an  awful  look  on  his  face  ;  while  Ora  gasps  :  "  Punish- 
ment without  trial — but  the  law  !  " 

And  Dimitri  answers  back  :  "  Now  nothing  is  against 
the  law  for  me!  everything  against  the  law  for  you!" 
Then  he  goes  on  :  "  You  are  now  in  my  power,  you  cursed 
Frenchman  ;  but  I  offer  you  safety.  You  are,  I  believe, 
a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  this  criminal  ?"  and  he  points  to 
Ora. 

The  girl  shivers  at  the  term,  but  says  proudly :  "  An 
accepted  suitor  !  " 

"  That  makes  the  matter  easier,"  laughs  Dimitri. 

"  I  have  in  my  hand  her  letter,"  mutters  Maurice 
very  slowly,  as  if  in  thought  ;  "  but  have  not  as  yet  read 
it ;  "  and  he  picks  up  quickly  from  the  table  the  note 
addressed  to  him. 

"  That  letter  says,"  cries  the  girl  in  generous  enthusi- 
asm, "  that  if  I  ever  wed,  I  will  wed  Maurice  de  Ver- 
ney,  a  man  too  noble  for  you  to  even  understand, 
Dimitri  Menchikoff  !  " 

"  He  is  a  Frenchman  !  You  shall  see  how  noble  he 
is  !  "  laughs  the  policeman,  for  he  judges  others  by  him- 
self. 

At  this  insult  in  the  presence  of  the  girl  he  loves, 
Maurice  cries  hoarsely,  "  Monsieur  !  "  and  would  spring 
at  Dimitri,  who  half  raises  his  saber  ;  but,  controlling 
himself  by  a  mighty  effort,  he  mutters  :  "  Pardon  me  !  I 
have  not  yet  heard  your  proposition." 

"  It  is  simply  this,"  remarks  Menchikoff.  "  I  offer  you 
both  safety,  if  you,  Monsieur  de  Verney,  release  this  lady 
from  her  promise  to  be  your  wife  ;  and  if  you,  Ora 
Lapuschkin,  then  consent  to  marry  me  to-day  !  Otherwise, 
a  Russian  dungeon  to-night  for  you  both,  and  to-morrow 
the  punishment  of  convicted  assassins." 

At  this  the  girl,  shuddering  at  the  eyes  he  casts  on 
her,  cries  :  "  Monstrous  !  I  have  already  answered  your 
suit.  I  have  already  said  no  !  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  333 

But  the  Frenchman  seems  to  grow  uncertain  under 
this  terrible  threat,  and  asks  in  a  faltering  voice  :  "  But 
if  I  accept  your  proposition,  Prince  Dimitri,  what  proof 
will  you  give  me  that  you  will  keep  your  word  ?  " 

Then  Ora  gives  a  little  start,  and  gasps  :  "  Can  you 
hesitate  ?  O  Maurice,  you  call  this  love  !  " 

And  Menchikoff  laughs  in  mockery  :  "  It  is  a  French- 
man's love." 

But  to  these  words  de  Verney  only  replies,  a  little 
cringe  in  his  manner  :  "  I  ask  a  proof." 

"  I  have  in  my  pocket-book  some  blank  passports 
signed  by  General  Gourko,  governor  of  St.  Petersburg. 
I  fill  one  out  for  you,  and  you  depart  from  Russia  to- 
night. You  thus  escape  from  the  nihilists  you  have 
betrayed,  and  this  lady's  property,  which  might  again 
ensnare  you.  The  passport  shall  be  my  proof  !  " 

To  this  de  Verney  mutters  :   "  Let  me  think  !  " 

And  Ora  looks  at  him  astounded,  for  his  voice  has 
grown  quite  humble. 

"  In  any  case,  this  criminal's  estates  will  be  confis- 
cated, or  pass  to  me,"  continues  Dimitri,  in  the  same 
mocking  manner  he  has  had  since  he  has  felt  this  man 
and  woman  in  his  clutches.  "  And  I  know  all  French- 
men expect  a  dot." 

"  So  we  do  !  Beauty  without  money  is  a  very  cheap 
article,"  returns  the  chevalier  with  a  cringing  grin. 

"  Maurice  !  "  cries  the  girl,  wringing  her  hands  at  this 
atrocious  sentiment,  u  I  am  beginning  to  despise  you  !  " 

But  de  Verney,  after  one  shudder,  in  which  his  lips 
form,  but  do  not  utter,  the  words,  "  My  God  !  "  sud- 
denly says,  as  if  his  mind  were  fixed  :  "  I  can  now  give 
you  my  answer  !  " 

And  noting  the  spasm  of  agony  on  his  face  at  her  con- 
tempt, Ora  mistakes  him  ;  and  throwing  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  careless  of  Dimitri's  presence,  she  cries  :  "  Mau- 
rice, I  trust  you,  I  love  you  ! "  and  turning  round  on 


334  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

his  tempter — who  is  grinding  his  teeth  at  the  sight  of 
her  beauty,  passion,  and  abandon — says  proudly,  one 
white  arm  encircling  the  man  she  loves,  and  the  other 
held  out  in  haughty  gesture  :  "  Know,  Prince  Menchi- 
koff,  that  this  gentleman  has  my  plighted  troth  ;  that 
Ora  Lapuschkin's  word,  once  given,  is  eternal !  I  refuse 
your  offer.  Siberia  !  death  !  —  BUT  NEVER  MARRIAGE 
WITH  YOU  ! " 

Then  this  haughty  being  turns  tenderly  to  de  Verney, 
and  would  lavish  on  him  caresses  in  her  despair  ;  but 
he  smites  her  down  with  a  French  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
and  mocking  words  ;  for  he  laughs  :  "  Mon  Dieu  !  how 
noble,  but  how  foolish  !  " 

Then  the  bitterness  of  death  comes  near  to  her,  and 
she  staggers  from  him,  astonishment  struggling  with  con- 
tempt in  her  face  ;  for  Platoff's  story  of  his  refusal  to 
marry  her  governess  because  she  was  poor  comes  back 
to  her,  and  she  looks  to  see  if  the  man  she  loves  is  a  for- 
tune-hunter and  a  coward. 

Here  Dimitri,  who  has  placed  his  hand  in  the  pocket 
of  his  military  cloak,  smiles  and  says  :  "  These  were 
brought  me  for  inspection  to-day.  Carelessly,  I  placed 
them  in  my  pocket ;  but  now  they  may  be  useful."  And 
he  draws  out  a  pair  of  handcuffs,  together  with  a  box 
that  looks  like  a  jewel-case.  The  latter  he  puts  on  the 
table  ;  with  the  former  he  approaches  Maurice,  and  mur- 
murs :  "  Monsieur  de  Verney  ? "  but  is  careful  to  keep  the 
point  of  his  naked  saber  always  toward  him. 

"  You  think  those  would  suit  my  wrists  ?  I  do  not," 
laughs  the  chevalier,  who  has  now  become  very  light, 
laughing,  and  sycophantic  in  his  manner  to  this  Russian 
bear. 

"  I  give  you  your  choice — these  and  Siberia  !  or — the 
passport  and  Paris  !  "  and,  as  he  says  this,  there  is  a  ring 
of  triumph  in  Dimitri's  voice. 

"  Parbleu  !     The  choice  is  not  a  difficult  one — Siberia 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  335 

and  Paris  ?  I  choose — Paris!  "  cries  de  Verney  lightly. 
As  he  does  so,  a  quiver  of  despair  runs  through  him,  for 
he  sees  the  face  of  Ora  Lapuschkin  grow  as  cold  and 
haughty  to  him  as  it  has  been  to  Dimitri,  though  her  mouth 
is  wrung  by  agony,  and  her  eyes,  that  are  so  large  and  blue 
and  honest,  have  red  circles  of  suffering  round  them,  not 
at  her  own  bitter  fate,  but  at  the  degradation  of  this 
man  she  had  thought  noble — the  throwing  down  of  this 
idol  of  her  heart. 

"  You  resign  all  claim  to  this  lady's  hand  ? "  says  Men- 
chikoff  sharply. 

And  Maurice  has  strength  enough  to  reply  in  his  same 
insouciant  manner :  "  Her  estates  will  be  confiscated. 
Why  not  ?  I  am  a  Frenchman  !  Here  is  the  letter  that 
contains  her  promise  ;  here  is  a  fire  !  "  And  striding 
quickly  over  to  the  blazing  logs,  he  burns  the  little  love- 
note  to  ashes,  and  coming  cringing  back  to  Dimitri,  fawns 
on  him,  as  if  for  safety  :  "  Have  I  earned  my  passport  ?  " 

At  this  Ora  utters  one  sharp  gasp  of  pain,  and  the 
Russian  policeman  mocks  her:  "You  see  this  French 
gentleman  has  resigned  your  hand  !  " 

And  she  growing  very  proud  in  her  despair,  from  her 
white  lips  come  words  as  cold  as  ice  :  "  It  is  not  he  who 
renounces  me.  I  renounce  him  j  for  I  despise  him  more 
than  I  do  you  !  " 

She  confronts  Dimitri  as  she  says  this,  and  does  not 
even  look  at  de  Verney  ;  had  she  done  so,  she  might 
have  pitied  him,  for  his  face  has  more  of  suffering  than 
hers. 

Then  Menchikoff  remarks  in  a  business  way  :  "  The 
police  are  already  arresting  your  fellow-criminals  ;  " — a 
faint  and  distant  commotion  coming  in  the  windows  to 
give  proof  to  his  words.  "  You  will  not  have  a  longtime 
in  which  to  choose,  Countess  Ora."  Here  he  looks  at  her 
beauty,  which  is  perhaps  more  pleasing  to  him  now  than 
before — his  Eastern  blood  liking  unavailing  resistance  in 


336  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

women— and  goes  on  very  pointedly,  opening  the  jewel- 
case  and  letting  her  see  the  bauble  sparkle  :  "  Behold! — 
a  beautiful  bracelet  of  gold  for  my  promised  wife  !  See  ! 
— a  pair  of  iron  ones  for  the  wrist  of  a  confessed  crimi- 
nal !  Your  choice — pretty  one  ?  " 

"  It  is  made  !  "  says  the  girl,  as  white  and  cold  now  as  a 
marble  statue  ;  but  oh,  so  much  more  beautiful  !  "  I  will 
be  the  bride  neither  of  the  man  who  deserted  the  woman 
he  once  lied  to  when  he  said  he  loved,  nor  the  man  who 
would  degrade  a  woman  as  you  would.  There  are  nobler 
hearts  in  the  mines  of  Siberia  than  that  of  your  Prince 
Dimitri  or  that  gentleman  there  who  prefers  Paris.  I 
choose  Siberia  !  "  And  her  nostrils  dilate  with  contempt 
for  the  brute  who  glares  at  her,  and  the  unhappy  creat- 
ure who  cannot  look  her  in  the  face  from  shame  or  mis- 
ery or  some  other  abject  emotion. 

"  Then,  in  the  name  of  the  Czar,  I  arrest  you,  Ora 
Lapuschkin,  a  confessed  assassin  !  "  hisses  Dimitri,  and 
prepares  to  clasp  the  handcuffs  round  her  beautiful  white 
wrists,  remarking :  "  They're  a  little  large  for  you,  I  fear, 
my  pretty  felon." 

At  this  the  girl  shudders.  "  Dimitri,  I  am  your  cousin ; 
I  will  go  with  you.  For  God's  sake,  don't  degrade  me — 
with  them!  "  and  starts  back  a  step,  eyeing  him  as  a  dove 
does  a  hawk. 

But  he  goes  on  coolly  trying  to  make  them  smaller,  but 
now  starts  and  holds  his  gleaming  saber,  not  raised  to 
cut,  but  giving  point,  ready  to  spit  any  one  flying  at  him  ; 
for  there  is  a  creature  with  bloodshot  eyes  about  to  spring 
toward  him  ;  but  at  sight  of  certain  death  this  creature  is 
a  cringing  thing,  that,  coming  near,  whines :  "  Let  me 
assist  you." 

"By  Heaven,  you're  more  of  a  Frenchman  than  I 
thought  you,"  laughs  the  Russian  brute  to  the  French 
cur,  and  tosses  him  the  handcuffs,  but  keeps  his  sword 
still  ready  in  his  hand. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  337 

*  Yes.  I  was  once  very  quick  with  these  things.  See, 
I  can  soon  make  them  small  enough,"  and  de  Verney 
works  away  at  the  manacles. 

"  What  do  you  expect  for  this  ?  "  jeers  Dimitri. 

"  Only  my  passport !  You  will  give  me  my  passport  ?  " 
says  the  coward  anxiously. 

"  You  want  your  passport,  Frenchman  ?  You  shall 
have  it  when  you  place  those,  irons  on  that  felon's  wrists. 
Clap  'em  on  her  !  Then,  by  the  Lord,  how  she  will 
despise  you  !  CLAP  'EM  ON  !  " 

Then  an  awful  silence  comes  upon  them  all ;  as,  looking 
like  a  craven,  his  eyes  deep  in  their  sockets,  his  head 
bowed  with  shame,  de  Verney,  who  is  like  a  man  no 
more,  turns  to  do  the  brute's  bidding  on  the  girl  who 
stands  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  two  beams  of  scorn 
that  would  strike  him  penitent  if  he  would  but  look  at 
them. 

Till  now  this  interview  has  been  all  under  their  breaths  ; 
for  Dimitri  has  been  cautious,  fearing  the  nihilists  might 
know  he  lived,  and  Maurice's  speech  has  been  low  with 
intensity,  and  Ora's  breaking  heart  did  not  cry  very  loud. 
But  now  the  victim's  agony  is  too  awful  to  keep  in. 

She  screams  :  "  From  my  father's  friend  ? — from  my 
lover  ?  Degradation  !  You  make  my  fate  easy,  I  de- 
spise you  so!"  Then,  as  he  seizes  one  white  arm  and 
drags  her  nearer  Dimitri,  she  struggles  and  prays  :  "  I 
will  not  be  degraded — not  by  YOU  !  Not  by  YOU, 
MAURICE  !  Think  how  I  loved  you  !  " 

And  he  writhes,  the  sweat  of  a  more  awful  agony  than 
hers  upon  his  brow.  "  She  struggles  like  a  tigress  !  Your 
assistance,  prince  !  to  hold  her  wrists  !  " 

Then,  in  the  triumph  of  this  moment,  Dimitri,  crying : 
"  Now  you  ARE  a  Frenchman  !  "  his  jeers  mingling 
with  Ora's  panting  gasps  and  de  Verney's  half-frenzied 
laugh,  drops  his  saber,  and  seizing  in  his  brutish  hands 
those  two  white,  delicate,  struggling  wrists  of  Ora's,  holds 
22 


338  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

them  tight,  bruising  and  crushing  them  together  for  their 
degradation. 

But,  as  he  does  so  : — like  lightning  he  feels  two  mana- 
cles snap  upon  his  own  wrists  ;  and,  writhing  in  his  bonds, 
this  barbaric  brute  is  tossed  crashing  down  among  the 
fallen  bric-a-brac  of  an  overturned  table. 

But,  half  stunned  as  he  is,  his  wandering  senses  can 
still  catch  a  mocking  laugh  in  his  ear :  "  BY  HEAVEN  ! 
NOW  I  AM  A  FRENCHMAN  !  "  and  see  a  white-robed  girl, 
turning  eyes  suffused  with  love  upon  this  thing  whose 
foot  is  on  his  neck,  and  crying  with  a  scream  of  surprised 
joy :  "  Forgive  me  for  doubting  you  !  Thank  God  !  My 
idol  still  !  "  and  hear  de  Verney,  in  the  voice  of  a  man 
once  more,  laugh  :  "  COULDN'T  YOU  GUESS  ?  THE  BRUTE 

HAD  BLANK  PASSPORTS  AND  A  BIG  SABER  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE     LAST    ROUND! 

AT  these  words  Dimitri  struggles  to  his  knees  and  tries 
to  get  his  whistle  to  his  mouth  ;  but  at  his  first  move  he 
hears  "  Ah  !  would  you  ?  "  and  is  dashed  to  the  floor  again, 
choked  nearly  to  death,  and  his  whistle,  pocket-book, 
and  papers  taken  from  him.  Then,  bound  into  an  inert 
mass,  with  cords  torn  down  from  the  window-curtains,  he 
is  carried  into  the  bedroom  off  the  boudoir,  and  tossed 
helpless  upon  the  lace  coverlet  and  pillows  of  Ora's  dainty 
bed. 

This  is  done  with  the  greatest  rapidity,  for  moments 
are  very  precious  to  de  Verney  now.  He  leads  Ora  to 
her  little  dressing-room  and  says:  "Quick!  pack  up  your 
jewels  and  a  change  of  linen,  and  throw  sables  over  your 
white  dress  !  It  will  be  cold  to-night  at  sea."  Then 
he  sits  down,  and  taking  three  blank  passports,  signed 
by  General  Gourko,  from  Dimitri's  pocket-book,  he  fills 
them  out,  one  for  Ora,  one  for  Vassilissa,  and  one  for 
himself — for  he  has  determined  to  pass  the  police  on  the 
grounds  by  means  of  the  three  napkins,  and  the  police 
on  the  bridge  by  Gourko's  passports,  and,  getting  Ora 
and  Vassilissa  on  the  yacht,  to  steam  for  all  life  is  worth 
out  of  the  Neva  toward  the  high  seas.  This  game  of 
life  and  death  is  only  a  matter  of  time.  If  Menchikoff 
can  telegraph  to  Cronstadt,  he  may  be  chased,  but  he 
hardly  thinks  caught — the  Sophie  is  so  fleet. 

While  doing  this,  he  once  thinks  he  hears  Dimitri  in  a 
faint  voice  calling  to  his  police  for  aid,  and  starts  up  to 


34°  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

gag  him ;  but  this  is  not  repeated,  and  he  goes  on  filling 
up  the  passports — writing  for  his  life. 

As  he  finishes  these,  Ora,  a  small  valise  in  her  hand, 
says:  "  I'm  ready."  And  he  cries:  "  Come! " 

As  they  turn  from  the  little  apartment,  Vassilissa 
staggers  in  from  the  boudoir  and  mutters :  "  Dimitri's 
dead  !  " 

"  DEAD  !  "  shrieks  Ora. 

"  Dead  as  a  saint !  "  answers  the  peasant  woman.  "  He 
was  calling  to  the  police.  I  gagged  him  and  strangled 
him  to  death — though  I  didn't  mean  it — but  he's  stiff  as 
ice  ! " 

"  Then  we  must  get  out  of  here  before  the  police  dis- 
cover it,  that's  all.  You  remember  his  orders,  if  he  is 
found  dead  !  All  the  faster  now  !  "  And  with  this  de 
Verney  leaves  the  two  trembling  women,  and  strides  into 
the  boudoir  and  across  to  the  window-sill  to  get  the 
napkins  in  order  to  pass  the  police  within  the  grounds  ; 
but,  placing  his  hand  in  the  bowl,  he  gives  a  start  of 
amazed  terror,  and  grows  white.  The  chloroform  is 
there,  but  the  napkins  are  gone  ! 

They  are  indispensable — they  must  be  found  !  and  he 
goes  hurriedly  about  the  room  searching  for  them  every- 
where, but  not  finding  them.  While  now  from  the  music- 
room  the  piano  is  sounding  loudly,  for  Louise  has  heard 
first  the  noise  of  struggle  in  this  apartment,  and  then 
Ora's  scream  of  "  DEAD  !  "  and  is  playing,  as  a  signal  to 
the  circle  outside,  the  grand  old  strains  of  the  Russian 
hymn. 

He  runs  to  the  door  of  the  dressing-room  and  calls  to 
Vassilissa,  asking  her  what  she  has  done  with  the  nap- 
kins. 

And  to  his  question  Ora  comes  out  with  pale  face  and 
says  that  Vassilissa  has  fainted  ;  then  gasps  :  "  They  are 
in  that  vase  ! — there  !  with  the  chloroform  !  " 

"Of  course,"  mutters  de  Verney.     "Go  back  and  re- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  341 

vive  your  maid  ;  "  for  now  there  is  a  knocking  on  the 
door  of  the  music-room,  and  a  voice  is  calling  :  "  What's 
the  row  in  there  ?  Why  are  we  locked  in  ? " 

At  these  words  de  Verney  suddenly  mutters  :  "  Beres- 
ford — -one  passport — I'll  save  her  !  "  and  turns  and 
unlocks  the  door  of  the  music-room  as  Cuthbert  cries 
again  :  "  Vassilissa,  or  somebody,  let  us  out !  " 

As  he  does  so  Beresford  walks  out,  and  Maurice,  forc- 
ing a  laugh,  says  :  "  A  little  pale  in  the  gills — eh  ?  "  for 
Cuthbert  has  an  anxious  and  perplexed  expression.  The 
piano  is  still  sounding.  Louise  is  still  playing  Russian 
hymns  ;  and,  hearing  no  false  notes  or  tremble  in  her 
execution,  even  in  the  uncertainty  of  this  awful  moment, 
Maurice  can't  help  admiring  this  woman's  superb  nerves, 
as  he  closes  the  door  upon  her. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  I  heard  strange  noises  !  " 
says  Cuthbert  nervously. 

"  Oh  !  ah  !  my  cough  !  "  cries  Maurice.  "  I  have  cold, 
like  you  !  Nasty  climate,  this  of  Russia/'  and  he  plays 
with  the  silken  damask  wrapped  about  Beresford's  neck 
in  a  longing,  covetous  way.  "  You  have  your  throat 
bandaged  also.  Why,  you  did  take  your  souvenir  from 
the  tea-table  like  the  rest,  after  all  ?  " 

"  No  !  this  is  a  little  gage  d*  amour  !  "  murmurs  Beres- 
ford ;  "but  the " 

"  Ah  !  from  Madame  la  Princesse  ?  You  are  a  sly 
fellow — a  true-lover's  knot  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  wasn't  coughing  I  heard  in  here.  It  was 
a  cry  about  death  !  "  interjects  Cuthbert. 

"  Death  !  Oh,  yes  !  "  mutters  de  Verney,  eyeing  the 
young  fellow  seriously,  his  hands  all  the  time  gently 
untying  the  napkin  about  the  Englishman's  neck.  "  By 
Jove  !  Prince  Platoff  was  here  a  few  moments  ago, 

looking  for  you,  and  swearing  to  kill  you,  and "  he 

points  significantly  to  the  music-room,  "  that's  the  reason 
I  locked  you  in." 


342  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  Ah,  much  obliged,  don't  yer  know  !  "  returns  Cuth- 
bert.  "  Do  the  same  for  you,  my  boy,  some  time  !  " — and 
would  leave  the  room. 

But  Maurice  seizes  him,  and  says  solemnly  :  "  Not 
with  this  on  !  The  prince  saw  her  give  you  this  !  "  and 
he  draws  away  from  Beresford's  neck  the  gage  of  love 
he  has  untied.  "  If  Platoff  saw  you  wearing  this,  there 
would  be  blood  !  " 

"  Ah  !  very  well,  if  you  think  so,"  murmurs  the  English 
attache  ;  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  Russian  that's  born, 
but  I  don't  like  to  make  trouble  in  families,  don't  yer 
see  !  Take  care  of  it  for  me — ain't  she  a  f etcher  ?  " 

Then  Maurice,  unlocking  the  door  of  the  boudoir  for 
him,  suddenly  asks  :  "  You  have  your  passport  show- 
ing your  connection  with  the  British  Embassy  with 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes — in  my  pocket — always  carry  it  now,  the  police 
are  so  inquisitive  !  Beastly  nuisance  ! "  With  these 
words  in  his  mouth,  and  carelessly  lighting  a  cigar,  Mr. 
Beresford  saunters  out  into  the  grounds,  to  very  shortly 
get  a  sensation,  leaving  de  Verney  gloating  over  his 
stolen  property  and  muttering  :  "  One  passport — I  can 
save  her  !  " 

Then  he  strides  to  the  dressing-room,  and  cries  :  "  Ora 
— come  !  "  But  she  is  already  at  the  door,  looking  at 
him  with  curious  eyes,  and  saying  :  "  Vassilissa  is  recov- 
ering, but  not  yet  ready  to  travel !  " 

"  Then  you  must  not  wait  for  her  !  "  he  says  hurriedly 
— for  he  knows  the  time  is  growing  very  short.  "  There 
is  your  passport  and  your  traveling-bag — and  here's 
what  will  give  you  safety  while  leaving  this  house  ! "  and 
he  puts  into  her  hand  what  he  stole  from  Beresford. 
"  Go  at  once  to  your  carriage,  and  drive  like  the  wind 
into  town— when  there — 

But  she  interrupts  him,  whispering :  "  But  you  are 
coming  too  ?  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  343 

"  No  !  I  must  wait  for  Vassilissa,  and  follow  on  horse- 
back ? " 

"  But  Vassilissa  ?  " 

"  She  will  come  with  me  !  " 

"  On  horseback  ? " 

"  Why  not  !  She's  half  Cossack  !  "  he  cries  impatiently. 
"  When  there — at  once  to  the  French  Embassy  ;  ask  for 
my  old  servant,  Francois;  tell  him  to  forward  the  paper  I 
gave  him,  by  means  of  the  French  minister,  to  the  Czar  in 
person  !  " — for  he  thinks  Hermann's  confession  may  yet 
save  the  girl's  estates.  "  Then  give  him  this." 

He  writes  in  his  pocket-book  six  lines  and  forces  it  into 
her  hand  ;  then  cries  "  Go  !  " 

But  she  mutters  :  "  I  will  wait  for  you  !  " 

At  this  he  looks  sternly  at  her  and  cries  :  "  Obey  me  ! 
I  command  you — go — instantly  !  "  and  leads  her  to  the 
door.  "  That  paper  must  reach  Fran£ois  at  once  !  And 

now "  here  he  kisses  her  passionately  and  murmurs, 

"  Au  revoir  /" 

"  Till  when  ?  "  cries  the  girl  to  him.     "  When  ? " 

But  he  doesn't  answer  this,  but  simply  says,  "  Au 
revoir  !  "  in  a  muffled  and  broken  voice,  and  putting  her 
out  of  the  door  mutters  :  "  It  is  over  ;  Fran£ois  can  be 
trusted.  To-morrow  she  will  be  out  of  Russia,  but  /  shall 
be  one  of  the  chain  journeying  to  the  ice  and  snow  of 
Asia — or  worse!"  For  he  knows  that  his  chances  are 
nearly  nothing  at  this  moment,  when  military  rule  is  the 
only  law,  and  many  are  sequestered  and  punished  with- 
out trial,  and  even  France  cannot  interfere  to  protect  its 
citizens  in  Russian  territory  against  Russian  law. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cries  out,  "  I'll  not  go  there  !  Maurice 
de  Verney  was  not  born  to  be  a  slave  in  a  quicksilver 
mine  !  " — then  thinks  a  moment  very  hard,  and  suddenly 
utters  :  "  The  portfolio  of  a  minister  of  police  some- 
times contains  secrets  that  save  as  well  as  destroy  ! 
Let's  look  at  Dimitri's  pocket-book  !" 


344  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Getting  this,  he  examines  quickly  the  papers  within  it, 
and  after  a  few  moments  cries  out,  his  eyes  getting  big 
with  astonishment :  "  Dimitri  Menchikoff  wrote  the  mes- 
sage on  those  napkins  himself.  The  handwritings  are 
too  similar  to  doubt  it.  That's  why  he  could  read  them 
at  an  impossible  distance !  "  Then  he  goes  on  with  his 
investigation — discovering  within  the  lining  of  the  wallet, 
carefully  hid  away,  two  letters  on  tissue,  paper  in  Russian 
that  he  cannot  decipher,  but  dated  two  months  ago  from 
Odessa.  Next  looks  over  some  other  papers  that  he  can 
read,  and  cries  :  "  Another  and  another  proof.  Dimitri, 
the  arch  villain,  and  Hermann,  the  lower  rogue,  the  spy. 
It's  simple  as  day.  Dimitri  has  ordered  this  circle  to 
meet,  that  he  may  force  Ora  to  be  his  bride  or  die,  and 
her  estates  pass  to  him." 

"I'll  write  an  explanation  to  this  !  "  which  he  does  in 
ten  lucid  lines,  and  inserts  this  with  the  papers  in  the 
pocket-book,  thinking  :  "  If  I  could  get  these  to  Gourko, 
the  Czar's  lieutenant ;  he  is  a  soldier — severe,  but  just !  " 
But  a  moment  after  he  mutters  despondently  :  "  I  cannot 
pass  the  cordon  of  police  and  Dimitri's  order.  If  he  is 
dead,  quick  and  secret  punishment  for  the  Frenchman  ! 
I  shall  never  see  her  again.  There  is  no  hope  !  " 

But  as  he  says  this  a  pair  of  arms  are  clasped  around 
him,  and  Ora  is  looking  into  his  face.  He  cries  to  her : 
"  You  here  ?  The  police  refused  to  let  you  pass — the 
talisman  I  gave  you  did  not  open  the  gates  ? " 

But  she  says  :  "  I  did  not  use  it.  I  saw  you  steal  it 
from  Beresford.  I  did  not  believe  your  tale,  and  so  I 
read  your  letter.  The  first  two  lines  ordered  Frangois 
to  get  me  out  of  Russia  to-night ;  the  second  four  left 
everything  you  possessed  to  me  !  Maurice,  it  was  your 
last  will  and  testament  !  Then  I  knew  you  were  chained 
to  this  place  and  destruction,  and  I — I  came  back  to 
share  the  fate  of  the  man  whose  whole  thought  was 
for  me  and  my  whole  heart  was  for  him.  That's  why  I 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  345 

am  here  !  I  stay  by  you,  my  promised  husband,  till — 
the  end  !  " 

And,  looking  very  noble,  the  girl  gazes  admiringly,  but 
determinedly,  at  him. 

"  Then  by  that  title  I  command  you  to  obey  me  !  "  he 
cries  to  her.  "  Now,  while  you  have  yet  time  !  "  For 
by  the  noises  coming  in  at  the  window  he  knows  that  the 
police,  having  done  their  work  in  the  grounds,  are  now 
entering  the  house. 

But  she  throws  the  napkin  on  the  floor,  and  answers 
resolutely:  "  How  can  I  go  without  that?  " 

"  If  not  for  your  safety,  for  mine  !  "  whispers  Maurice 
desperately.  "  Take  this  pocket-book  to  the  French  min- 
ister ;  tell  him  to  get  it  to  Gourko,  with  the  napkin,  and 
the  man  Hermann,  now  in  charge  of  Francois,  as  evi- 
dence of  the  truth  of  what  I  have  written,  and  it  may 
save  me !  Ah  !  now  you  will  go  !  "  he  cries,  as  the  girl 
says:  "  Yes — to  save  you — ANYTHING  !  " 

As  this  is  taking  place  Vassilissa,  still  weak  from  her 
fainting,  has  come  in  to  them,  and  the  napkin  is  tying  at 
her  feet.  As  her  mistress  stoops  to  pick  it  up,  the  servant 
anticipates  her,  remarking  :  "  This  doesn't  smell  like  the 
rest." 

"  The  rest !  "  cries  Ora. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  them  ? "  asks  Maurice, 
like  lightning. 

"  Gagged  Dimitri  with  them.  They  killed  him  !  " 
answers  the  woman. 

"  Is  Dimitri  dead  ?  "  mutters  de  Verney,  and  bolts  to 
the  silent  figure  in  the  bedroom. 

A  second's  examination  shows  the  brute  is  alive. 
Vassilissa  had  forced  the  chloroformed  napkins  into  his 
mouth ;  the  fumes  from  them  had  entered  his  nostrils 
and  produced  deathly  insensibility,  but  not  death  itself. 

Maurice,  taking  the  napkins  from  his  mouth,  is  about 
to  return  to  the  room,  that  they  may  use  them  to  pass  the 


346  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

police,  but  the  noise  on  the  stairs  tells  him — too  late  ! 
He  unmanacles  and  unbinds  the  insensible  giant,  and, 
concealing  his  bonds  in  the  bedroom,  comes  quickly  out 
to  meet  a  spectacle. 

Young  Beresford  bolts  up  the  stairs,  crying:  "There 
are  idiotic  policemen  arresting  every  one  in  the  house  ! 
Get  your  passports  ready,  yer  know  !  " 

On  the  little  balcony  Feodor  has  just  made  awful  work 
of  an  officer  with  his  long  Russian  peasant's  knife,  but  is 
now  overpowered ;  while  one  of  Ora's  big  flunkies  is 
being  led  away  across  the  lawn  blubbering,  like  the  great 
innocent  sheep  that  he  is. 

At  this  moment  Platoff  and  Zamaroff  fly  in  also,  mut- 
tering :  "  The  police  have  not  been  notified  by  us.  We 
are  lost  !  "  and  fall  to  cursing  each  other  and  that  spy 
Hermann,  who  has  run  away. 

As  they  do  this  the  room  is  filled  by  men  in  the  uniform 
of  the  Russian  police,  and  one,  a  particularly  active  little 
fellow,  springs  into  the  music-room.  The  Russian  hymn 
stops  with  a  bang,  and  Louise's  voice  can  be  heard  say- 
ing :  "  What  do  you  mean  by  daring  to  lay  hands  on  me  ? 
Do  you  know  that  I  am  the  Princess  Platoff  ? " 

Then  comes  an  ejaculation  of  surprise  from  the  little 
policeman,  but  he  drags  her  into  the  boudoir  just  the 
same  :  though  there  is  now  an  astonished  look  on  his 
face,  which  every  now  and  then  during  all  this  business 
is  turned  upon  her  in  curious  wonderment. 

While  this  has  been  going  on,  Victor  Regnier,  in  the 
uniform  of  a  sous-lieutenant  of  Russian  gendarmerie,  his 
countenance  inflexible  as  ever,  stands  at  the  door.  He 
coolly  orders  that  no  one  be  permitted  to  leave  the 
room;  and,  coming  to  Ora — whom  he  has  doubtless 
seen  in  her  drives  about  the  capital,  for  her  beauty 
was  on  many  lips — he  says  respectfully  but  firmly  :  "  If 
alive,  Prince  Menchikoff  is  here  !  Countess  Lapuschkin, 
this  is  your  home  !  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  347 

Maurice,  at  her  ear,  whispers  :  "  Answer  boldly  !  "  and 
the  girl,  who  stands  very  pale  and  quiet,  replies  :  "  This 
is  my  house,  and  Dimitri  is  here." 

At  these  words  Platoff  and  Zamaroff — who  have  been 
whispering  earnestly  to  each  other,  and  glaring  astounded 
at  de  Verney,  whom  they  thought  gone  about  his  busi- 
ness long  ago,  and  now  are  convinced  that  he  has  been 
the  ruin  of  their  plot — begin  to  talk. 

The  prince  crying  out  that  his  nephew  has  been 
most  foully  murdered,  for  they  have  heard  Louise's  Rus- 
sian hymn, — and  Zamaroff  cringing  up  to  the  lieutenant 
and  muttering  :  "  By  those  people,  your  nobility  !  "  point- 
ing with  his  diamond-covered  finger  to  Maurice  and  Ora. 

While  Platoff,  who  has  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  neigh- 
boring bedroom,  adds  :  "  Your  superior  officer  lies  dead 
in  there  !  " 

At  this  two  of  the  policemen  run  to  the  bedside  of  the 
insensible  giant. 

One  who  has  a  Russian  peasant's  brain  stands  stupidly 
gazing  at  him,  the  other  makes  an  examination. 

Regnier  cries  sternly  :  "  Seize  every  one  in  this  room  !  " 
And  Beresford  yells  out :  '*  Hold  up,  I'm  an  English  dip- 
lomate,  don't  yer  know  ? " 

"  Prince  Dimitri's  orders  are  to  arrest  all  here,  and  I 
obey  them,"  returns  the  lieutenant  firmly. 

"  How  the  deuce  can  Dimitri  give  orders  if  he's  dead  ?  " 
ejaculates  Cuthbert ;  "  I'm  a  British  diplomatist,  and  I'll 
trouble  you  to  remember " 

But  Maurice  suddenly  interposes  :  "  One  moment, 
Regnier  !  " 

And  to  this  the  policeman  responds  with  an  uncom- 
promising bow,  saying  :  "  Monsieur  de  Verney,  I  believe  ; 
though  I've  not  seen  you  for  years,  I  am  very  sorry  to  see 
you  here — but  you  know  I  always  do  my  duty.  You  are 
the  Frenchman  Prince  Dimitri's  order  especially  charged 
me  in  case  he  died  to  remove  secretly." 


348  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

He  gives  a  sign,  and  two  of  the  men  approach  Maurice 
and  would  seize  him,  and  Ora  also;  for  the  girl  has  glided 
to  him  as  if  to  protect  him;  but  Maurice  cries  :  "  One 
moment ! "  so  commandingly  that  the  policemen  for  a 
second  pause  and  gaze  at  him,  as  he  now  shoots  straight 
at  Regnier  these  words  :  "  I  know  you  have  two  sets  of 
orders — I  saw  them  written  in  this  room  and  thrown  to 
you  from  that  window  :  one  in  case  Dimitri  is  alive, 
one  in  case  Dimitri  is  dead  !  Before  you  act  on  the 
last,  Regnier " — here  his  debonnaire  manner  and  tone 
coming  back  to  him,  he  laughs — "  just  be  kind  enough 
to  make  sure  Prince  Dimitri  is  dead — see  for  your- 
self !  " 

But  as  Regnier  dashes  aside  the  curtains  cutting  off  the 
bedroom,  a  little  policeman  meets  him  at  the  door ;  and 
saluting,  cries  :  "  Prince  Menchikoff  is  alive,  but  insensi- 
ble!" in  a  voice  that  makes  Maurice  start,  for  it  is  the  same 
that  warned  him  he  was  watched  the  night  before.  He 
hasn't  much  time  to  think  of  this,  however;  for  now  he  is 
preparing  to  rattle  all  their  brains  with  a  series  of  tre- 
mendous lies ! 

This  declaration  makes  a  great  effect  upon  Zamaroff, 
Platoff,  and  his  wife.  And  now  de  Verney  gives  both 
police  and  conspirators  another.  He  remarks  calmly  : 
"  Chloroformed!  " 

At  this  some  of  them  utter  a  cry  ;  and  Regnier,  run- 
ning in  to  his  superior  officer's  prostrate  form,  comes 
back  again  and  says  :  "  You  are  right,  I  smell  the  fumes 
about  his  bed  !  " 

"  Precisely  !  "  returns  Maurice,  an  inspired  lie  coming 
to  him  like  a  flash  of  genius;  u  chloroformed,  at  his  request, 
by  ME  !  " 

Then  there  is  a  murmur  of  amazement  from  them  all; 
and  Ora,  astounded,  would  gasp  "  You  ? "  did  not  his 
quick  hand  clasp  hers  with  warning  pressure. 

"  Yes,  chloroformed  !  "  he  cries  ;   "  to  prevent  his  mur- 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  349 

der  by  the  scoundrels  you  have  arrested  outside,  and 
these  that  you  will  now  arrest  inside  !  Each  knew  it  was 
to  be  done  by  his  circle,  and  each  thought  the  other  had 
committed  the  crime,  and  so  did  not  kill !  " 

Here  Zamaroff  squirms  out :  "  Do  I  look  like  a  man 
who  would  kill  anything  ? " 

And  Sergius,  who  has  been  eyeing  de  Verney  viciously, 
returns  :  "  These  are  lies  !  " 

"  I'll  prove  them  to  be  the  truth  by  Dimitri's  written 
orders,  Regnier,"  says  Maurice  coolly  to  the  lieutenant. 
Then  he  turns  to  Ora  and  says  :  "  What  are  you  to  me  ? " 

And  the  girl  answers,  a  little  blush  coming  over  her 
pallor  :  "  I  am  your  affianced  wife  ! "  then  droops  her 
head,  but  in  a  moment  gazes  up,  startled  at  his  astound- 
ing words  ;  for  he  explains  :  "  This  lady  asked  me  to 
save  her  cousin  from  these  conspirators.  I  was  compara- 
tively a  stranger  to  Prince  Dimitri.  He  said  :  '  You  were 
once  connected  with  the  French  police  and  are  my 
cousin's  fiancee,  I  will  trust  you.'  I  said  :  '  You  shall 
trust  me.  Make  my  safety  depend  upon  your  own  before 
you  put  yourself  without  sense  or  power  into  my  hands. 
Write  two  sets  of  orders — one  to  be  acted  on  if  I  betray 
you  and  you  die  ;  the  other  in  case  I  save  you  and  you 
live  ! '  " 

Here  Zamaroff  and  Platoff  give  a  ghastly  laugh,  and 
Regnier  looks  searchingly  at  Maurice  and  remarks  curtly : 
"  A  risky  experiment  for  you,  Monsieur  de  Verney." 

Ora  and  Vassilissa  are  both  gazing  at  him  astounded  ; 
the  peasant  woman  muttering  to  her  honest  self  :  "  What 
a  great  liar  !  "  And  the  girl  of  his  heart  thinking  :  "  What 
a  noble  one  !  " 

On  them  the  chevalier  smiles,  and  remarks  to  Regnier  : 
"  I  had  to  take  the  risk  ;  my  fiancee  implored  me  to  save 
her  cousin." 

At  this  Ora  cries,  "  Oh,  Maurice  !  "  in  wonderment, 
and  de  Verney  gives  an  atrocious  grin  and  mutters  : 


350  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  The  word  fiancee  always  makes  her  bashful  now."  Then 
he  goes  on  :  "I  had  no  fear  either  of  Dimitri,  myself, 
or  you,  Regnier.  I  knew  you  always  obeyed  orders 
exactly.  You  have  your  orders  in  case  Prince  Menchi- 
koff  lives." 

u  And  will  execute  them  to  the  letter,"  remarks  the 
precise  sub-officer. 

"  Then  permit  me  to  offer  you,  on  behalf  of  the  Com- 
tesse  Ora,  her  maid  and  myself,  three  passports,"  mur- 
murs de  Verney. 

"  Passports  in  this  house  are  of  no  use  under  my 
orders  !  "  returns  Regnier.  "  You'll  have  to  wait  until 
Prince  Menchikoff  recovers." 

•"Not  passports  on  linen ?"  suggests  the  chevalier, 
producing  the  three  napkins. 

"  Ah  !  these  I  understand,"  remarks  Regnier,  and,  com- 
paring them  with  his  sample  one,  he  says  :  "  You  can  go  !  " 

On  hearing  these  words,  Platoff  and  Zamaroff  have 
each  glided  to  the  sofa,  under  the  cushions  of  which 
de  Verney  discovered  his  third  napkin,  and  are  fighting 
silently  and  desperately  to  get  at  what  they  think  will 
save  them  from  arrest. 

Now  they  break  forth. 

"  I  left  mine  here  !  "  cries  the  prince  to  Regnier. 

"  That  is  mine  !  I  call  Heaven  to  witness  !  "  screams 
Zamaroff. 

"  Dog  !  You  lie  ! "  shouts  Platoff,  and  smites  the 
financier  down  ;  then,  tearing  up  the  cushions  and  find- 
ing nothing,  he  grows  pallid  with  despair,  and  advancing 
on  Maurice,  who  is  gazing  at  him  with  contempt  in  his 
eyes,  he  mutters  to  the  lieutenant  of  police  :  "  Those  very 
things  you  call  passports  are  proof  of  guilt,  and  have 
treason  written  on  them  in  sympathetic  ink,  visible  only 
when  held  to  the  fire !  " 

"  If  this  is  true  I  cannot  let  you  go,  Monsieur  de 
Verney,"  says  Regnier  sternly. 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  351 

And  Sergius  chuckles  hoarsely  :  "  We  both  fall  to- 
gether ! " 

"  We'll  try  'em,"  cries  Maurice  ;  and,  taking  care  not 
to  use  the  one  he  got  from  Beresford,  he  springs  to  the 
fire  and  desperately  tests  the  truth  of  Hermann's  science. 

Regnier  gazes  at  the  linen  as  it  is  exposed  to  the  heat, 
and  after  a  few  moments  says  sharply  :  "  There  is  not  a 
trace  of  writing  !  " 

And  Maurice  under  his  breath  murmurs  :  "  What  a 
boon  is  chloroform  to  humanity  !  "  Next  he  calls  out 
hurriedly :  "  Vassilissa,  the  traveling-bag  !  Comtesse,  my 
arm  !  "  For  this  delay  has  told  terribly  on  their  chances — 
time  is  the  very  essence  of  life  to  them  now. 

Crossing  to  offer  his  support  to  Ora,  who  has  watched 
all  this,  sometimes  with  despair,  sometimes  with  hope, 
but  always  with  amazement,  de  Verney  chances  to 
glance  through  the  half-drawn  curtains  upon  the  arbiter 
of  their  fate,  and  sees  a  sight  that  strikes  him  cold. 

Assisted  by  the  policemen,  the  effects  of  the  chloroform 
are  passing  away.  DIMITRI  MENCHIKOFF  IS 
RAPIDLY  REGAINING  HIS  SENSES  ! 

Maurice  knows  that,  long  before  he  can  get  these  two 
women  on  board  and  the  yacht  under  way,  the  prefect  of 
police  will  be  in  condition  to  telegraph  his  central  office 
in  St.  Petersburg  and  arrest  their  flight. 

But  at  this  supreme  moment  the  superb  resources  of 
this  man's  mind  are  more  potent  than  ever.  He  thinks 
very  hard  for  two  seconds;  then,  forcing  the  tremor  from 
his  voice,  calls  out :  "  Regnier,  I  see  your  chief  is  getting 
his  senses  again." 

At  this  Ora  utters  a  low  cry,  which  is  checked  by 
astonishment  as  he  goes  on  easily  and  naturally :  "  The 
countess  and  myself  will  wait  till  her  cousin  recovers,  and 
go  into  town  with  him  !  " 

"  Please  yourself,"  remarks  Regnier,  who  is  now  busy 
with  Platoff's  and  ZamarofFs  protests  against  arrest. 


352  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

Then  Maurice  steps  quietly  but  quickly  to  where 
Louise  is  pleading,  as  for  her  life,  with  Beresford  for 
the  gage  d' amour  she  had  given  him.  "  By  the  love  of 
heaven,  it  is  my  liberty  !  "  she  whispers  with  white  lips ; 
for  just  here  Regnier  cries  out  to  Sergius  :  "  If  you  have 
not  one  of  these,  you  are  my  prisoner  !  Clap  the  irons 
on  him." 

From  her  entreating  arms  Maurice  drags  the  young 
Englishman.  As  he  does  so,  she  catches  sight  of  the 
little  finger  of  his  right  hand  and  screams  out :  "  I  know 
you  !  "  then  laughs.  "  The  American  lady  told  me  what 
a  baseball  finger  is.  When  he  wakes  up,  I'll  tell  him  who 
broke  his  shoulder.  Dimitri  '11  love  you  for  that !  " 
Then  she  would  follow  Cuthbert,  begging  and  imploring, 
but  a  little  policeman — the  one  who  pulled  her  from  the 
music-room,  the  one  whose  voice  is  familiar  to  de  Ver- 
ney — stands  in  her  way  and  says  sternly:  "  Sit  down  till 
your  turn  !  " 

Apart  from  the  rest  Cuthbert  whispers  :  "  My  napkin, 
old  fellah  !  " 

And  Maurice  returns  very  earnestly  and  very  quickly, 
gazing  with  pleading  eyes  at  this  man,  upon  whom  his  last 
hope  hangs  :  "  What  would  you  do  to  save  an  innocent 
girl  from  death  or  Siberia  ?  " 

"  Good  God  !  " 

"  What  would  you  risk  ?  " 

'*  Anything  !     Everything  !  "" 

"  Then  you  can  pass  the  police  here  with  that !  "  and 
he  gives  him  the  napkin  he  had  stolen  from  him,  the 
one  free  from  the  action  of  chloroform,  and  upon  which 
the  nihilist  message  still  remains.  "  Mount  one  of  the 
police  horses  in  the  park  !  You  can  ride  ?  " 

"  Ride  !     I  am  an  English  fox-hunter  !  " 

"  Then  ride,  as  if  you  were  after  the  gamest  fox  in 
England,  straight  to  the  French  Embassy.  Give  to  the 
French  minister  in  person  this  pocket-book  !  "  He 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  353 

hands  him  Dimitri's,  with  all  the  papers  of  the  prefect  of 
police.  "  Tell  him  the  Hermann  mentioned  in  my  mem- 
orandum is  locked  up  under  care  of  Frangois,  my  serv- 
ant ;  that,  if  I  am  not  in  his  presence  in  two  hours,  to 
take  •  in  person  that  pocket-book,  your  napkin,  and  Her- 
mann to  General  Gourko,  who  is  a  soldier  and  not  a 
policeman,  or  he  will  never  look  on  his  old  friend  Mau- 
rice de  Verney  again.  Now,  God  bless  you  !  " 

And  Cuthbert,  muttering  "  I  understand  !  "  strides  to 
Regnier,  shows  him  his  napkin,  and,  passing  the  police 
on  guard  at  the  door,  is  on  his  way  to  the  embassy. 

While  Maurice,  looking  after  his  vanishing  form,  thinks: 
"  I  and  two  women  could  never  reach  the  yacht  in  time, 
but  this  man  on  horseback  may  get  to  the  French  min- 
ister before  Dimitri  can  stop  him."  Then  he  passes  to 
the  side  of  his  half-fainting  sweetheart  and  murmurs, 
"  Courage  !  "  takes  a  look  at  Menchikoff,  who  is  now 
moving  his  limbs  uneasily  on  the  bed,  and  whispers  to 
Vassilissa  :  "  To  the  window  in  the  dressing-room.  From 
it  you  can  see  the  bridge  to  Petrofskoi  Island.  Appa- 
rently pack  up  some  more  of  your  mistress's  things,  but 
keep  your  eye  on  that  bridge.  When  Beresford  passes, 
come  to  the  door  of  the  dressing-room  and  look  at  me  !  " 

The  girl  passes  into  the  little  room,  and  Maurice  takes 
a  cigar  from  his  case  and  pulls  himself  together  for  this 
last  round  for  the  safety  of  her  whom  he  adores  ;  for 
Menchikoff  will  very  soon  be  his  own  savage  self,  again. 

He  sits  and  thinks,  hardly  noticing  the  scene  about 
him,  that  is  now  one  of  awful  intensity. 

Zamaroff,  despite  his  cries  that  he  is  a  government 
contractor,  has  been  bound  and  tossed  into  a  corner, 
where  he  moans  :  "  They  will  confiscate  for  this  ; "  and 
Regnier  has  just  turned  to  'Louise,  and,  being  prompted 
by  the  little  policeman,  has  recognized,  and  is  regard- 
ing her  with  a  sinister  glance.  He  laughs  harshly:  "  An 
old  friend  of  ours,  Monsieur  de  Verney." 
23 


354  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

But  Maurice  is  too  anxious  to  answer  him. 

Then  he  says  sneeringly  :  "  Who  is  this  so-called 
Russian  princess,"  for  he  thinks  now  she  must  be  some 
mistress  of  Platoff,  not  his  wife,  "  as  much  a  conspirator 
as  the  fleurette  of  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation  ? " 

And  she  proudly  cries  :  "  I  was  born  a  socialist.  My 
father  died  on  a  barricade  in  Paris  in  '48.  His  blood, 
as  they  bore  him  from  the  carriage  of  that  fatal  street, 
fell  on  a  babe  in  my  mother's  arms,  and  baptized  me  a 
hater  of  the  rulers  of  this  world — and  their  policemen  !  " 

"  Take  the  woman  away  and  bind  her,"  says  Regnier, 
and  two  policemen  just  seize  her  in  time,  for  she  would 
spring  at  him  ;  and  as  they  drag  her  back  and  tie  her 
white  wrists  with  cords,  she  writhes  out  to  Ora,  who  is 
gazing  as  if  fascinated  by  the  horror  of  this  thing  : 
"  They'll  do  the  same  for  you,  in  spite  of  that  French- 
man, in  a  minute,  you  white-robed  innocent  !  " 

But  now  over  this  scene  comes  faintly  in  from  the 
hanging  draperies  :  "  Regnier,  to  my  aid  !  Guard  all 
the  doors  ! " 

And  Maurice  knows  that  Dimitri  is  awake,  but  Cuth- 
bert  has  not  yet  passed  the  police  on  the  bridge  ;  Vassi- 
lissa  has  as  yet  given  no  signal. 

As  the  sub-officer  cries  out :  "Already  done,  my  chief !  " 
Ora  staggers  to  de  Verney,  and  whispers  :  "  You  have 
destroyed  yourself,  and  have  not  saved  me," — but  the 
love-look  she  gives  him  makes  him  almost  happy,  even 
in  the  suspense  and  misery  of  this  moment. 

He  says  to  her  almost  lightly  :  u  Wait  and  see  !  "  Then, 
leaving  her  astonished,  he  crosses  to  the  door  of  her 
dressing-room  and  looks  in  ;  seeing  Vassilissa  with  her 
eyes  out  of  the  window,  he  turns,  his  unlighted  cigar  in 
his  hand,  and  Dimitri  Menchikoff,  supporting  himself 
by  the  draperies  of  the  portiere,  is  gazing  at  him  with 
gloating  eyes  and  muttering  :  "  BOTH  HERE  !  By  the 
Devil  !  This  is  delightful !  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  355 

At  this  there  is  a  beseeching  cry  from  the  prisoners, 
who  would  fall  at  his  feet  ;  but  he  says  sharply :  u  Keep 
them  back— I've  something  more  pleasing  to  attend  to 
now  !  " 

"  Glad  to  see  you  better,  prince,"  cries  Maurice  ;  "  your 
cousin  and  I  delayed  our  departure  till  you  recovered. 
We'll  all  ride  in  together.  May  I  trouble  you  for  a  light 
for  my  cigar,  Dimitri  ?  "  and  comes  toward  him,  affably 
holding  out  a  hand,  and  murmuring :  "  Got  any  matches, 
Dimitri  ?  Pleasant  dreams,  Dimitri  ? "  For  he  wishes 
to  keep  Monsieur  Menchikoff's  mind  free  from  anything 
else  but  him  for  a  few  moments  more. 

At  this  astounding  reception,  the  prefect  of  police  at 
first  stares  at  him  as  if  he  were  not  for  the  moment  sure 
he  were  yet  awake  ;  then,  being  convinced  of  his  senses, 
he  mutters  :  "  This  effrontery  is  useless,  Frenchman,  my 
promise  is  revoked  !  " 

"  And  so  is  mine  !  "  returns  Maurice  calmly. 

And  one,  a  woman  among  the  prisoners,  rolls  her  hag- 
gard eyes  at  him,  and  screams  out  :  "  No  mercy  on  that 
Frenchman  ;  he  it  was  who  broke  your  shoulder  in  Paris 

— THE  MASKED  WRESTLER  !  " 

At  this  Dimitri  cries  :  "  Another  score  to  settle  !  "  and, 
coming  up  to  Maurice,  hisses  :  "  Audacity  shall  not  save 
you  !  You  and  that  other  one,"  he  points  to  Ora,  who 
is  drooping  with  destroyed  hope,  "  go  together  to — 

"  To  Paris — on  our  wedding  tour  !  "  laughs  de  Ver- 
ney,  though  his  face  is  pale ;  Vassilissa  is  so  long 
coming. 

At  this  the  girl  screams  despairingly  :  "  Don't  talk  of 
that  now!" 

And  Menchikoff  in  a  hoarse  voice  mocks  her  with 
"  Your  wedding  tour  shall  be  Siberia  ;  your  bridal  couch 
a  quicksilver  mine  ;  my  wedding  present  shall  be — 

But  Maurice  strides  up  to  him  and  whispers :  "  Beware 
of  Siberia  yourself  !  You  forget  your  pocket-book  !  " 


356  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  My  pocket-book  you  robbed  me  of  !  Another  crime 
on  your  shoulders  !  "  cries  Dimitri. 

"You  forget  its  contents!"  continues  de  Verney. 
"You  forget  that  the  nihilist  order  on  each  of  these 
napkins  was  written  BY  YOU  !  That  the  roll  of  to-mor- 
row's chain  for  exile  contains  the  names  of  all  those 
prisoners  !  "  Here  he  points  to  Platoff,  Zamaroff,  and  the 
rest ;  and  indignation  coming  to  him,  he  cries  out:  "  With 
a  blank  space  to  receive  that  of  this  poor  girl — your 
cousin — in  case  she  refused  to  become  your  unhappy 
bride  !  My  God  !  when  I  think  of  it  I  wonder  how  I 
spare  you  !  " 

"Spare  me!"  laughs  Dimitri.  "But  what's  the  use 
of  words  ?  Search  him  !  "  he  orders  sharply. 

"Ah,  yes.  You're  mighty  anxious  for  that  pocket- 
book  !  "  and  to  MenchikofFs  astonishment  as  well  as 
dread — for  he  does  not  like  the  easy  insouciance  of  this 
Frenchman — de  Verney  whistles  an  air  from  Offenbach, 
while  the  officers  hurriedly  search  him  from  head  to  foot. 
He  makes  no  resistance.  This  affair  takes  time,  and 
time  is  what  he  wants  for  Cuthbert  to  pass  the  bridge. 
Dimitri  is  playing  his  game  for  him. 

In  a  few  moments,  however,  Maurice  is  deftly  exam- 
ined ;  and  every  document  he  has  on  his  person  being 
placed  before  Menchikoff,  he  looks  over  them  and  mut- 
ters :  "  It  is  not  here.  My  God  ! — not  here  !  "  and  for  a 
m,oment  trembles,  while  over  his  shoulder  de  Verney 
whispers  : 

"  It  is  in  France  !  " 

And  Dimitri  cries  out  astounded,  "  What  !  " 

Vassilissa  has  signaled  from  the  door  of  the  room: 
"  Cuthbert  has  passed  the  bridge  !  " 

"  The  residence  of  the  French  minister  under  the  flag 
of  France  is  FRANCE  !  "  says  Maurice  pointedly. 

He  gets  no  farther,  for  Menchikoff  calls  out  :  "  Reg- 
nier,  has  any  one  left  this  room  ?" 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  357 

"  I  permitted  an  English  attache,  under  your  orders  !  " 

"  Signal  them  to  stop  him  at  the  bridge  !  "  Dimitri  cries 
to  his  men  on  the  balcony  ;  but  they  cry  back  to  him  : 
"  It  is  too  late  !  " 

"  If  in  two  hours  the  French  minister  does  not  see  me, 
he  will  deliver  that  pocket-book,  a  napkin,  and  Hermann, 
your  spy,  to  General  Gourko  in  person  !  "  cries  de  Ver- 
ney. 

But,  to  his  horror,  Menchikoff  only  looks  relieved, 
and  sneers:  "Hermann  is  not  my  spy!"  Then  says 
shortly  :  "  Seize  that  man  !  "  And  turning  to  Ora,  who 
gives  a  shudder  at  this,  Dimitri  cries:  "Why  has  that 
woman  not  been  secured  before  ? " 

At  this  the  room  appears  to  swim  to  Maurice  ;  his 
bloodshot  eyes  see  two  officers,  one  of  whom  has  his 
love's  hands  in  his,  the  other  holding  out  a  cord  to  bind 
them,  and  Dimitri,  like  the  arch-fiend,  looking  laughingly 
on,  while  all  the  time  his  brain  is  crying  to  itself  :  "  Why 
was  he  frightened  at  first  and  easy  now  ?  " 

But  here  hope  that  has  died  to  him  lives  suddenly 
again  !  At  MenchikofFs  order  a  little  policeman  has 
thrown  himself  on  him,  and  is  clutching  his  arms,  as  if 
he  would  manacle  him  alone,  and  whispering  to  him  from 
behind  his  ear  :  "  How  did  he  write  that  order  from  the 
National  Committee  if  he  wasn't  one  of  them  ?  Were 
there  not  letters  from  Odessa  ?  Know  that  you  can  trust 
me  by  THIS  !  "  and  he  flashes  before  de  Verney's  as- 
tounded eyes  a  ruby  ring,  that  Maurice  remembers  with 
a  quick  start  of  joy,  and  whispers  on  again  :  "  Now 
dash  me  off,  and  play  the  card  !" 

At  this  he  is  apparently  thrown  in  a  heap  to  the  floor 
as  Maurice  springs  to  Dimitri,  and,  seizing  him  by  the 
shoulder,  whispers  :  "  You  idiot  !  Did  you  suppose  I 
wished  to  tell  your  secret  to  all  these  policemen  ?  That 
would  mean  your  ruin  !  " 

"  My  secret  !  "  gasps  Dimitri,  getting  deadly  white. 


358  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

"  This  way  for  your  own  safety  !  "  And  Maurice  drags 
him,  astounded  and  faltering,  to  the  little  alcove  where 
Ora's  patron  saint  looks  down  upon  these  two  men  who 
are  fighting — one  to  save,  the  other  to  destroy  her. 

"  Now,  here's  your  secret  I  sent  to  the  French  minister 
— YOU  ARE  A  NIHILIST  YOURSELF,"  whispers  de  Verncy. 
And  the  other  mutters:  "  For  God's  sake,  speak  lower  !  " 

"  Ah  !  I  knew  my  shot  would  make  a  bull's-eye  !  I 
knew  I  had  you,  or  why  did  I  wait  here  ?  Hermann  was 
not  your  spy  !  /  wanted  you  to  acknowledge  that  before 
all  these  witnesses  L  Then  how  did  you  know  enough  to 
write  an  order  to  an  outside  circle  yourself,  if  you  were 
not  a  member  of  the  National  Executive  Committee — the 
highest  group  of  nihilists  ?  " 

"  I — you  see " 

"  And  then  those  letters  from  Odessa  !  By  heavens  ! 
what  will  Gourko — what  will  the  Czar — think  when  he 
sees  them  ? "  laughs  Maurice,  hurriedly  but  triumph- 
antly. 

"  I — I  joined  them  to  betray  them  !  I  was  about  to  ex- 
pose them  !  I  wished  to  know  Platoff's  plans  before  I " 

"  Acted.  Precisely  !  But  those  letters  from  Odessa 
were  dated  two  months  ago.  You  can  tell  this  to  Gourko 
and  the  Czar.  They're  so  confident  of  everybody  now! — 
they'll  believe  you  ! "  jeers  Maurice. 

"  Very  well,  you  shall  have  safety  to  leave  the  country." 

"  Without  her  ?  Never  !  I'll  have  all  I  want  or  noth- 
ing !  Tell  your  men  to  arrest  me,"  sneers  Maurice. 

But  Dimitri,  upon  whose  brow  there  are  now  drops 
of  cold  perspiration,  and  who  in  truth  only  had  become  a 
nihilist  to  learn  his  uncle's  plans,  and  so  destroy  him  and 
force  Ora  to  be  his  bride,  remembers  with  a  shudder 
that  the  very  name  nihilist  would  be  enough  to  condemn 
a  prime  minister  or  a  field  marshal,  now  that  the  Czar  is 
trembling  for  his  life — and  he  cries,  "  No  !  No  !  " 

"  Then  order  your  men  to — "  says  Maurice,   with  a 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  359 

savage  voice  ;  and  Dimitri  flies  at  his  policemen,  crying  : 
"  Dogs,  release  that  lady  !  " 

He  is  just  in  time.  In  another  instant  Louise's  proph- 
ecy would  have  been  fulfilled. 

The  girl  staggers  to  Maurice,  and  whispers,  confidently, 
"My  savior!  "  for  Dimitri  is  one  of  those  who  either  bully 
or  cringe,  and  he  is  cringing  to  her  now. 

"  Vassilissa,"  cries  Maurice,  "  carry  your  mistress' 
satchel  and  some  furs  to  the  carriage — and  you'd  better 
pack  up  another  dress  or  two.  We  shall  have  a  few  min- 
utes yet." 

At  this  Ora  gives  a  sigh  of  impatience,  and  Menchikoff 
mutters  :  "  I — I  thought  you  were  to  be  at  the  French 
minister's  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  within  two  hours  ;  and  the  ride  can  be  made 
in  thirty  minutes  with  ease.  How  desperately  anxious 
you  are  to  get  me  away,  my  dear  prince  !  I  am  only 
stopping  for  one  thing." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asks  Dimitri,  looking  uneasy. 

"Your  signature  to  this!"  And  de  Verney,  placing 
Ora  on  a  sofa,  sits  at  a  table,  writes  a  few  lines,  and 
murmurs  :  "  Just  sign  that,  prince,  and  away  we  go  for 
Paris.  By  the  bye,  you  may  also,  while  you've  pen  in 
hand,  m's/e  the  passports  of  Gourko  for  foreign  travel,  that 
I  took  the  liberty  of  filling  up  while  you  were  asleep  in 
there  ! " 

And  Dimitri,  looking  at  this  document  that  de  Verney 
has  written,  grows  red  and  pale,  and  he  ejaculates  :  "  It 
is  my  consent  to  my  cousin  marrying  you  ?  " 

"  Precisely." 

"  By  Heaven,  I'll— I'll  not  sign  it !  " 

"  By  Heaven,  you  will  !  or  I  stay  here  until  you  do. 
Every  moment  you  keep  me  waiting  shortens  the  time 
which  I  have  to  prevent  Gourko  seeing  your  pocket-book." 

And  Maurice  would  sink  lazily  into  a  chair ;  but 
now,  with  a  muttered  oath,  Dimitri  seizes  the  pen,  and 


360   '  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

signs  paper  and  passports  too.  Then,  thrusting  them 
into  de  Verney's  hand,  he  cries,  "  GO  !  " 

"  Ah,  who  is  the  older  policeman  now  ?  "  smiles  Maurice. 
"  Menchikoff,  remember  that  the  noblest  duty  of  the  police 
is  neither  to  find  the  criminal  nor  to  punish  crime,  but  to 
save — the  innocent !  "  And,  encircling  with  his  arm  the 
maiden  his  love  has  won,  he  supports  her  to  the  door  ; 
while  her  eyes,  like  the  stars  of  the  night,  beam  in  un- 
utterable reproach  upon  this  man,  whose  blood  should 
have  made  him  her  protector  instead  of  her  destroyer. 
And,  as  she  passes  from  his  vision,  Dimitri,  to  whom  her 
losing  makes  her  more  beautiful  than  ever,  watches  her 
as  a  lonesome  devil  would  one  of  the  houris  of  heaven 
torn  from  his  grasp. 

So  they  pass  out  from  the  room  with  its  stern  police- 
men and  fettered  criminals,  who  now  give  out  a  groan- 
ing shriek,  for  Dimitri  has  looked  around  for  his  revenge, 
and,  seeing  them  helpless  to  his  hand,  has  laughed  out  in 
a  horrid  voice  :  "And  now  THE  PRISONERS  !  " 

Hurrying  her  away  from  these  cruel  noises,  de  Verney 
places  Ora  in  the  carriage  that  is  ready  for  them,  for  the 
girl  is  now  almost  fainting,  the  shadow  of  an  awful  fate 
has  been  so  near  to  her. 

But  as  they  are  driving  away,  Menchikoff  comes  hur- 
riedly out  upon  the  balcony  and  cries  to  Regnier  :  "  An 
armed  escort  for  Monsieur  de  Verney  and  suit,  to 
town ! " 

"Ah,  you  fear  I  will  not  see  the  French  minister  in 
time  ! "  replies  Maurice  with  a  little  grin. 

Then  Dimitri,  running  down  to  their  carriage,  shoves  in 
the  bracelet  of  gold,  and  mutters  :  "  A  cousin's  wedding 
present  ;  and  Maurice,  my  kinsman — that — that  pocket- 
book " 

"I  will  keep  so  long  as  you  are  prefect  of  police," 
remarks  de  Verney.  u  It  is  the  greatest  safeguard  to  my 
wife's  estates,  and  I  am  Frenchman  enough  to  like  a  dot!  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  361 

And  would  drive  away  ;  but  Ora  suddenly  cries  :  "  I — I 
can't  take  a  present  from  your  hand  !  "  and  gives  back 
the  bauble;  then  tears  that  she  had  never  shed  for  herself 
pour  from  her  eyes,  and  her  woman's  heart  sobs  out  a 
prayer  to  Dimitri  for  mercy  for  his  prisoners.  "  Remem- 
ber, one  is  of  our  blood,"  she  supplicates. 

uYes  ;  he  who  married  a  flower-girl,  and  degraded  a 
boyard  family,"  he  answers  with  a  scowl.  "  We  know  all 
about  Louise  ;  eh,  Maurice  !  "  and  so  goes  back  to  do  his 
pleasure  on  his  prey. 

To  this  de  Verney  says  nothing,  but  calls  to  the 
coachman  :  "  Quick  !  The  French  Embassy  !  " 

Their  thirty  minutes'  drive  seems  but  five.  Ora's  head 
is  nestled  against  Maurice's  shoulder ;  he  is  explaining 
something  to  her  that  at  first  makes  her  give  a  sudden 
cry,  as  if  of  affright.  But  after  a  few  moments  she  bows 
her  head,  and  murmurs  :  "  You  have  a  right  to  my  life  : 
you  saved  it  !  "  And  her  face  and  neck  grow  rosy  with 
sudden  blushes,  as  she  whispers  something  in  his  ear  that 
makes  him  look  a  conqueror. 

So  they  come  to  the  French  Embassy,  where,  leaving 
Ora  and  Vassilissa  together  in  a  little  parlor,  Maurice 
walks  into  his  Excellency's  private  office,  and  finds  that 
gentleman  striding  up  and  down  the  floor  uneasily,  with 
Mr.  Beresford  and  Francois  looking  at  him. 

On  seeing  de  Verney,  he  cries  :  "  By  George  !  Escaped 
from  the  Russian  bear,  eh  !  "  then  says  thoughtfully  :  "  I'm 
glad  I  didn't  have  to  do  your  bidding.  I  think  there's  a 
little  mistake  in  your  memorandum.  These  papers  of 
Monsieur  Dimitri  mean  something  else  !  " 

"  So  they  do  !  I  made  a  mistake  ;  but  Menchikoff 
thought  I  hadn't,"  laughs  Maurice.  "  But  excuse  me  one 
moment,  your  Excellency  ;  "  and  he  takes  Frangois  aside, 
and  gives  him  an  order  that  astounds  him. 

Then  his  man  having  gone  on  the  errand,  he  says  : 
"  With  your  permission  I'll  write  the  proper  explanation 


362  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

to  the  mystery  of  the  pocket-book  ; "  which  he  hurriedly 
does,  and  hands  it  to  the  French  minister. 

"  Ah  !  "  remarks  his  Excellency,  "  as  I  thought  ;  "  then 
he  whispers  :  "  This  should  be  told  his  government. 
Prince  Menchikoff  is  a  nihilist  !  " 

"  Oh,  he  only  affiliated  with  them  to  rob  me,"  laughs 
Maurice  ;  then,  after  this  astounding  sentence,  he  gives 
them  another,  for  he  says  earnestly  :  "  Lock  these  up  in 
your  strongest  safe,  for  I  believe  they  are  practically 
'the  deeds  to  my  wife's  estates.'  " 

"  Your  wife  ?  "  cries  his  Excellency,  astonished. 

"  My  future  wife's — I  beg  your  pardon  ;  but  the  time  is 
so  near,  I've  begun  to  think  of  her  as  such  already.  I'm 
to  be  married  in  ten  minutes  ! " 

"  Not  here  !  "  says  the  minister  shortly.  "  I'll  give  the 
Russian  Government  no  cause  for  ill  feeling." 

But  Maurice  returns  :  "  This  will,  I  hope,  change  your 
mind  ;  "  and  he  shows  him  Dimitri's  written  consent  to 
his  cousin's  marriage.  Then  he  concisely  tells  his  Ex- 
cellency the  extraordinary  events  of  the  afternoon,  and, 
getting  this  genial  old  gentleman  to  hemming  and  hawing 
and  considering,  he  brings  him  to  Ora,  and  her  beauty 
settles  the  matter.  The  minister  cries  :  "  By  the  Lord  ! 
I'll  stand  between  no  Frenchman  and  such  loveliness  !  " 
for  the  girl  is  now  radiant,  like  the  sunshine  after  a  storm. 

And  so  Francois  having  done  his  errand,  and  brought 
the  clergyman  who  officiates  at  the  legation  to  them, 
with  little  Beresford  excitedly  acting  as  best  man,  and 
his  Excellency  giving  the  bride  his  blessing  and  a  fatherly 
kiss,  Maurice  de  Verney  and  Ora  Lapuschkin  are  made 
one  by  the  forms  of  man  and  the  ritual  of  the  holy 
Church. 

This  ceremony  is  hardly  over  before  he  whispers  some- 
thing to  his  minister,  who  says  :  "  Yes  !  The  sooner  the 
better  for  your  safety — all  things  considered."  And  then 
remarks  :  "  Why  not  take  Dimitri's  pocket-book  with  you  ?  " 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  363 

"  What  ?  And  be  robbed  of  it  going  to  the  yacht  ! 
I'll  not  take  the  chances  !  You'll  look  after  Ora's  goods 
and  chattels  for  me  !  "  cries  Maurice,  who  has  given  his 
Excellency  his  power  of  attorney. 

And  so  they  all  drive  down  to  the  yacht  together,  the 
minister  and  Cuthbert  going  with  them  to  see  them  on 
board  the  Sophie  and  wish  them  "  Bon  voyage  !  " 

As  Maurice  had  ordered,  steam  is  up,  and  the  boat  is 
soon  ready  to  leave  her  dock,  the  captain  telling  him  that 
they  have  succeeded  in  shipping  a  cook  only  half  an  hour 
before. 

So  with  British  hurrahs  from  Beresford  and  warm  clasps 
of  the  hand  from  all  the  rest,  the  Sophie  shoots  out  from 
the  English  quay,  and  darts  down  the  Neva  between  the 
granite  docks  of  St.  Petersburg. 

A  few  minutes  after,  she  is  threading  the  channel  over 
the  bar,  between  its  hundred  buoys  ;  and  an  hour  from 
then,  with  Cronstadt  upon  her  quarter,  is  driving,  for 
everything  she  is  worth,  down  the  waters  of  the  Finnish 
Gulf. 

Ora  has  no  appetite  ;  she  is  only  anxious  to  get  away 
from  her  country  and  her  home,  and  is  watching  the 
receding  domes  and  spires  of  the  capital  that  are  sinking 
to  the  horizon  ;  but  Maurice,  now  that  the  strain  is 
over,  has  become  hungry,  and  is  unromantically  eating 
his  dinner  in  the  little  cabin. 

A  few  moments  after,  he  comes  on  deck  and  says 
sternly  :  "  That  was  the  most  atrocious  meal  in  a  life's 
experience  !  Send  me  the  cook  !  " 

Then  he  turns  to  her  who  has  become  his,  and  murmurs  : 
"  A  good  housekeeper,  eh  ?  Knowest  thou  how  to  make 
an  omelet,  my  comtesse  ? "  playing  with  the  fairy  ear 
that  is  on  the  head  nestling  against  him.  And  the  girl 
answers  :  "  I  never  cooked  in  my  life  ;  but,  if  my  lord  will 
teach  me,  I'll  make  him  an  omelet  to-morrow  !  " 

"  Pshaw  ! "    laughs    Maurice  ;    "  you   shall   break   the 


364  THAT    FRENCHMAN  ! 

eggs  for  me — we'll  do  it  together — for  this  cook  is  an 
atrocity!  " 

At  this  time  Francois,  who  has  borne  his  message  to 
the  galley,  comes  to  him  with  a  curious  grin  on  his  face, 
and  announces,  "  The  cook  ! " 

Hardly  looking  at  the  creature,  who  appears  insignifi- 
cant, de  Verney  bursts  out :  "  Don't  you  know  that  garlic 
in  an  omelet  for  a  bridegroom  is  an  atrocity  ?  You're  a 
dishwasher,  not  a  cook  !  " 

But  the  man,  who  is  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  replies  with  a 
deprecating  bow  :  "  It  is  our  Quartier  Latin  style — we 
always  eat  'em  so  at  Mig " 

But  he  gets  no  farther.  At  the  voice,  Maurice  has 
turned  at  once,  and,  catching  sight  of  a  ruby  ring  con- 
spicuously displayed  in  the  other's  vivacious  gesticula- 
tion, has  cried  out,  "  Microbe  !  "  Then  it  is  not  the  little 
thief-taker  who  embraces  the  chevalier,  but  the  aristo- 
crat who  seizes  the  thief-taker  to  his  heart ;  and  to  Ora's 
astonished  questions  tells  her  that  this  vile  cook  is  a  good 
detective,  who  that  day  has  done  more  for  him  than  he 
can  ever  pay  back  to  him. 

Then  he  hurriedly  asks  :  "  Why  did  you  come  here  ? " 

'*  He  suspected  me  of  aiding  you  and  spying  upon  him  ; 
had  I  not  escaped  to-day  I  would  never  have  seen  my 
native  France,"  says  the  little  fellow.  Then  he  goes  on  : 
"I  hope  you'll  excuse  the  cooking;  I  am  not  in  practice; 
but  for  to-morrow  morning  I  am  planning  a  ragotit  a  la 
Mabille  !  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for  it." 

"  I'll  forgive  anything  from  you — short  of  poison,"  cries 
Maurice  ;  "  and  perhaps  we'll  come  in  and  help  you,"  he 
adds,  for  he  is  desperately  afraid  of  Microbe's  cuisine  j 
the  dinner  has  been  execrable. 

"  Ah  !  with  madame — what  honor  !  "  says  the  little  fel- 
low, with  a  bow  of  pleasure.  Then  he  points  toward  the 
fortress  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul— that  Russian  bastile 
of  unutterable  horrors,  the  distant  spire  of  which  is  now 


THAT    FRENCHMAN  !  365 

gilded  by  the  setting  sun—  and  mutters  :  "  He  has  them 
there  now  !  "  shudders  and  walks  forward. 

Gazing  at  this,  the  awful  memories  of  the  day  come  back 
to  her,  and  Ora  gasps  to  Maurice:  "  From  which  you  saved 
me — my  Frenchman!"  Then,  the  strain  being  almost 
over,  with  a  little  peaceful  sigh  as  if  she  were  very  tired 
and  very  content,  she  sinks  almost  fainting  into  his  arms, 
that  clasp  about  her  with  the  joy  of  victory  and  con- 
quest, as  he  gazes  on  the  wondrous  beauty  that  is  his. 

And  on  them  the  same  red  sunlight  that  gilds  the 
spire  of  the  Russian  prison  falls  and  makes  a  halo  about 
these  two,  flying  as  fast  as  steam  will  drive  them  over  a 
summer  sea  toward  those  lands  that  God  has  blessed 
by  that  one  boon  that  makes  the  chief  good  of  life — 
LIBERTY  ! 


FINIS. 


4 


f^i*,  Miti\ 


